Ellen Ni Bheachain (October 2nd 1962 / Dublin Ireland)

Oh my gosh its August again!
And for all that are and were?
I think of one,
Orphan Angel,
Norma-Jean,
An Icon of one,
That became what,
The 1950's wanted,
Then died because,
Of,
Pressure and pain,
Of,
Fame and fortunes,

Now here it is August again,
The first week and the beginning,
The first week and the ending,
For,
Norma-Jean Mortensen,
Norma-Jean Baker,
Norma-Jean Dorherty,
Norma-Jean Di-Maggio,
Norma-Jean Miller,
Marilyn Monroe,

A week of celebrating her birth,
A week of remember her death,
A week of what and who she was,
A child born,
And orphaned off,
And what ended up,
A pawn in the idles game,
Of fame and fortune,
With scandel and ruination,
Her Birthday,
And Death Anniversary,
Each in the beginning of August,

Oh my gosh its August again!
And for all that are and were?
I think of one,
Orphan Angel,
Norma-Jean,
Now an Icon embossed,

When in the books,
Of one left to be,
And raised here and there,
Orphan Angel,
Norma-Jean,
Went and became,
What all just made out of her,
And only her few close friends,
That told it right,
Of who was,
Norma-Jean,

And still she is famed,
Yet,
Not until she is long, long gone,
Did we really find out about,
Ophan Angel,
Norma-Jean,
From those that remained so quiet,
Till,
They too passed on as well,

Cookies in the sky,
With warm milk of milky way stars,
And warm company,
Of high above,
With,
Cool diners images of where they meet,
To discuss their fame,
And troubled fortunes,
And the marks on life,
They left behind,

With,
Trials and blazes,
As each and everyone of them,
That too went out,
Just,
Like Norma-Jean,
Will too enjoy,
Just as in life,
Warm Cookies and warm milk,
And the company,
Of.
Norma-Jean.
R.I.P.