In the bathroom, silently listening.
Drops of water, ever glistening,
Reflecting light like great sunbeam,
Rising mists of heat and steam.

Full of sweat and dirt and grime,
But yet, not more so than mine,
She stands there, prone, as waters fall,
Naked to the world, and feeling small.

Enter flowing teardrop streams,
Timeless water mends the seams.
As eternal waste it cleans,
Giving unto her the means
To bravely face another morn
As if, indeed, she were reborn.