Tired

Her eyes speak volumes.
Barely open, head nodding, so tired.
So so tired.
She smiles, jars herself awake once more,
To a world of stress and disillusionment,
And sleep that is refused at the door.
Can she not know, can she not see that she is no hummingbird?
Yet again she's up at two.
I worry.
No one should be this tired in a waking world,
Day after day,
Always moving,
Never resting,
Perhaps escaping but PLEASE, listen,
This cannot go on forever...
Her forehead creased with worry and years,
Her tears too have left ridges there.
Rest and joy are not futile things,
But how can I help to slow her down
When years have passed, and still the same?
At night her conversations fade
As her head drops slowly upon her shoulder.
If this is seen, she is asked to leave.
And early she rises, for a bit of fun,
With flowers, doggies, and a little sun.
I worry still.
Her eyes look sad, deep inside, and tired.
Yet again the morning comes,
A chance for change.
I hope...