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They said that she was reckless,
They implied that she was loose,
Unrestrained and somewhat feckless,
They heaped on her dog’s abuse.
They were jealous of her beauty,
Of her glitzy winning ways.
They described her as a cutey
Living hard on borrowed days.
But she turned her head, ignoring
All the curses that were hurled,
And to us, her fans adoring,
She became the whole wide world.
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When the crash came, ‘twas traumatic
As she lay there comatose.
Sirens, wailing and dramatic,
Signalled she was in death’s throes.
But the surgeons operated,
As her blood seeped through the bed,
Over-stressed but dedicated,
They would not leave her for dead.
And her pulse was still erratic
And she scarce could draw a breath,
She was critical but static
As she lay there close to death.
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Then her eyelid flickered lightly
And we gripped her hand and prayed.
Even though she looked unsightly,
We no longer were afraid.
And some former rivals sniggered
In their hats and to her face,
For she’s horribly disfigured
And no longer full of grace.
But I still adore her madly,
She’s the rose that never dies,
And I’ll follow her quite gladly
Till the sun forsakes the skies.