There once was a good man named Bucky,

Who was really, very unlucky.

He fell down a hole,

Was helped by a mole

and was so disgustingly mucky.

Have you ever heard the expression "eyes are the window to the soul" If you think such sayings are just silly, old wives tales then you've clearly never met Jane. Her wild, forest green eyes perfectly expressed her fierce spirit. As she groggily climbed out of her creaky bed Jane pulled on a baggy, streched blouse that may of once been white, but over the years had faded to a depressing grey. Her leather trousers were patched and worn. Using an almost thistle bear brush she harshly pulled back her thick, chestnut hair into a tight plait that swung about her knees as she walked. She proceeded to make her bed. As she leaned forward the fabric of Jane's torn blouse clung to to the curves and crevices of her ribcage revealing how horrifyingly prominent it was. "Jane?" A weak voice almost inaudibly whispered. It was her mother. Jane's Mother was ill, really ill And had been for a long time. There wasn't money for healers so night and day Jane attended to her mothers every need as well as laborously working in a vain attempt to make at least some  ends meet.