Tuesday, December 12, 2006

Bag Lady

A frail shapeless form pushing a rickity cart
dropped a fraying coat --
and in giving it to her
I looked into her eyes.

papa
....................................................................................

BAG LADY

They had called her a traveler
‘cause she wandered hither gone;
but in truth she was only lost,
being forgotten long from home.

They had fancied her a Gypsy
‘since she danced with silver bells,
but in truth her swirled colored skirts
were from a wash-line fair and found.

The thought her but a withered crone
as she mem’ried n’er child nor kin;
but in truth she but hid inside,
all the laughter she might have known.

No one looks her quite in the eye
for want of seeing their own fears;
but in truth she danced with sunshine
if they would but expend some time.

I knew her as the girl next door
whom I might have claimed and wed;
but in truth I let love slip away
for hearing mind instead of heart.

So wave to every bag lady
and help them across street ‘n park;
for it truth she’s just like yer mom
‘cept I took simple trust away.

2 Comments:

At 9:42 AM, Blogger Vi Jones said...

This is beautiful, faucon. It's true, you know, she, your Bag Lady, could be any one of us if fate had proclaimed it so.

 
At 11:54 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

There is some great wring here so thought provoking and expressed so well.

 

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