Fresh jasmine in her hair,

Frail fingers, behind bars;

A smile, wistful but fair,

Tired eyes, and heavy heart.

Woman, feared by men in green,

Daughter, Hope, of people unfree;

Mother, Wife, with grief unseen,

But we’re still silent, holding the key.

Burma’s forgotten, faraway,

‘Who’s this Suu Kyi?’ you ask;

Look in the mirror, friend, then say,

Isn’t Daw Suu Kyi really us?

May God bless her, the people of Burma and all who yearn for Freedom, Justice and Democracy.