In a red maternity dress,
She stands alone, in deep distress,
Her hands cradling her unborn womb,
In the cold and misty gloom.
The deserted parking lot surrounds,
As she waits for a ride that never resounds,
The world passing her by,
With no one to hear her desperate cry.
Loneliness is her only friend,
As she stands alone until the end,
No one to share her pain or strife,
A tragic figure, the essence of life.
The misty air clings to her skin,
As she longs for someone to take her in,
But the world is cruel and unforgiving,
Leaving her to face the cold and unrelenting.
Her unborn child, a symbol of hope,
A flicker of light in the shadowed scope,
Yet the weight of the world on her shoulders,
Leaves her feeling weak and much bolder.
And so she waits, a lonely figure,
In a world that leaves her without a trigger,
The red dress a symbol of her pain,
Her heart breaking, forever in vain.
The misty day will come and go,
Leaving her standing there, alone in her sorrow,
A haunting figure in the cold and mist,
Forever waiting for a ride that never exists.
