She sits in her chair, and she sews with her needle and thread,
Sometimes she sleeps for so long, people begin to think she is dead.
When she wakes up, it is bitter problems she has to face,
Using her powers to mould the people, whatever gender or race.
Looking fragile and old, she faces problems like never before,
The lives of others being taken, criminals keep coming back for more.
Her hands start to shake as she sews her needle and thread,
She watches as the days pass by, what goes on inside our heads.
Sickened by some, others she created as beautiful people,
Some buildings get blown up, some get worshipped at like the church steeple.
Control over everything, she balances out the good and the bad,
Everything happens for a reason, you would never know what happiness was, if you've never felt sad.
Pain is Love, until you find the one,
she lets you get hurt, so you know when to run.
Some people die, of illnesses so horrifying,
But when you feel the pain, you know when to start crying.
She sits in her chair, she knows more about me than me,#
She understands every action and word, and sees what only her eyes can see.
A force so strong, she is not worshipped by many,
She is older than this world, she is as rich as a penny.
She loves everyone in the world, and does what she thinks best,
Never dies but forever grows old , never caring for us any less.
