Monday 16 January 2017

THE BEGGAR WOMAN

I saw her lounging under her tree
As I rode by each day at noon 
Hair matted, clothes tattered 
I would hear her abandonly croon 
Her songs of timeless agonies 
Litanies of wordless tunes. 

Not a penny to her name 
A square foot space her throne 
A gleam in her eyes arrests me 
Acceptance of a fate unknown 
They call her mad, but can't they see 
Her eyes perceive more than their own! 

MS




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