Janice Poem by J.R. Holmes

This woman I've known for a year
Is tall and wide with red bricked skin,
Just like her brother who stands near.
Shallowness is her only sin.
Apollo can't, with all his might,
Even stimulate her with his light.

Praised by many for her great feats
Of giving birth to kings and queens
Who present to the old elites
The essential of the world - greens.
The land of newborn Scarlet Knights
Is where the woman spends her nights.

Yet she is scorned by her minions
Who are cuffed with books she supplies.
They're trapped like inmates in prisons.
All you hear are desperate cries.
The woman doesn't really care
In days of corporate warfare.

This woman is my mother,
And her name is Janice.