A Warrior

Some days she's a warrior in a dress Some days she's a broken mess, Most days she's a bit of both, I guess With or without the stress. She is always there I know applying With hope, faith and smiles she is supplying, Sometimes fuming, cursing or crying But, she is always there, standing, fighting and trying. In her purse she carries her a hair brush Along with her lipstick and blush, And a piece of fabric that is plush And some candy so her stomach will hush. Some days she is a warrior, I know Some days she just doesn't know where to go, Most days she is confident with her glow And proudly to others her might she will show. Some people might call her a nun And some people might call her undone, Some people have called her a hit and run I though call her woman. Randy L. McClave