If she weren’t so frangible, she would be independent.
Her causes would be epic and her actions more resplendent.
She could get more exercise and wouldn’t be so stout.
She’d be so much more sprightly if she could go out.
Her initial actions if she weren’t so fragile
would be acts of daring so spellbindingly agile
that the world would view her as a wonder. Oh, if only,
perhaps then she wouldn’t be so weary and so lonely.