Why we have the word injustice

Each day she left she thanked me
A smile on her face each time
And her hands would quake
Quake like the leaves of a tree
Disturbed by the shifting
Of the air, looking for a place to sleep.

She reminded me of the sunset
With her many hues of twine
And her face was worn
Worn with lines of worry
Those which stole her mind
Since they came and took him.

Her face was always happy
When she took them, woven round her hand
And slowly backed out
But she always had a tear
Because the pills stole away
A part of her, about him
How they lynched him
And left him for the crows