How lucky she was,
how fortunate in so many ways,
there were no more worries,
even on cloudy days.
Her smiling analyst had a pill for loneliness,
a substitute for hugs,
oh joy, a pill to hold her through the night,
a substitute for love.
Cry she might,
but, not to worry, there was another pill,
one that cared.
©April 2018, Christina Anne Hawthorne