At the edge of a cliff, I stand tall and still. Would you love me, Of your will?
Blue sky has turned to grey, White doves numb from sleep. Would you walk by, Watch me weep?
I am clothed in deep hurt, Thorns grow at my side. Would you stay or, Run and hide?
Scout the board of real life, Like a game of chess. Queen! Come shield me, From this mess.
Don't leave me at this edge, I stand tall and still. Love me the same, With free will... (c) Monica St Hillaire, 2020.