The elderly woman was wrinkled and withered

Just as the fruit she would have delivered.

Packed in her purse were little candy mints,

As pink as her cheeks rosy tints.

Eighty-two years young

Was shown in the strength of her lungs;

But as many believed she is a poor old woman,

Mary Jean was able to conceal her inhuman.

Her husband's coffin was buried days ago,

Making her a widow to John Doe.

But behind her sappy love story,

There was persistence for glory.

Beatened, batterned and coaxed,

Her life was all but a hoax.

Through the pain in her bust

She had to learn how to trust, 

The open arms there for an embrace,

For women deserve to be filled with grace.