In London Town Pt Two

The child Seraphine was three With Mary Grace unfailingly Devoted to her daughter's care But now a shell of one so fair Her laugh was not so deep and free And she would sleep so painfully That Seraphine was known to cry Or plead for help from passersby Eventually, no empty stares Could rectify her daughter's cares And Mary Grace resolved to face Another time, another place The summer sun was boiling hot Like butter boiling in a pot As Mary Grace retraced the path That once replaced her mother’s wrath Though Mary Grace was wont to cry Before a sad but scathing sky She sang a song of sweet repose To bring her life a peaceful close The scarlet sun was sinking still Before a twilight's fading frill When Mary Grace went down the walk That once disgraced a shady block They sat beside a garden gate Where beauty matters more than fate And flowers bloom but never sigh Except for those who hurry by Now Mary held her daughter tight Which helped them both to sit upright And with a deep, determined strength She found the words to speak at length