Gentle Lisa was born on a Monday,
With all charm and beauty but no money,
Her gentleness so amazed many,
But of course with haters on the way.
At school she was a star,
And bright she was by far,
A hero she was and to many a sweetheart,
People thought she was too brittle to hurt.
After school her mother was so penniless,
With her drunken father merciless,
That saw her dream of becoming a doctor fade,
And farewell her dream she bade.
She matured into a lovely young lady,
So marriageable she seemed ready,
But her ambitions of going far,
Made her braver until she shone like tar.
So when one day, her village was hit by a deadly plague,
And the hope of survival seemed vague,
Her soothing words were all people looked up to,
And she well knew it too.
That day was terrible for all,
When the plague on her did fall,
She lay gently waiting for her minute,
That very close was definite.
And when at last she did close her loving eyes,
Nobody would believe that she did die,
But that gentle and soft look,
Was something to put to book.