Anguish Poem by Obodoh Faith

The hands cursed the poor lady.
The ones that bended her out of love.
That ruined the present destiny which thy future ought not to be known.
For those that ruin shall look into it.
See, how she is been dragged to the mud.
No one to pull out and mend.
That poor figure is hated.
For thy littlest has not been on such fall.
A tablet and phone upgraded her.
And thy noise again.
What would be hers.
For hardworking is taken out of her.
She is been accused for no interest they take in her earlier.
Round and round where would she find love?
A fruit bearing tree she is to be.
Now making it dry and producing no fruit.
Whom will accept this lonely daughter rejected.
Who truly terms her a daughter?
Is it thy care? The skill, the beauty.
What is her inheritance now?
The ones for cut off must be out.
And so shall be out.