Dear Old She

Dear old she! – The sun is tanning and battering Her skin, Greying her hair, fading her beauty; She’s gone frail! Youth has fled her, and hence decrepitude has befriended her – For never the twain shall meet. But still she rises in the dawn, And she sweeps and she mobs and she cooks; Without wee help to ease her daily chores. Her days go over with fatigue in her body, But she never whines! And to add, at night she sleeps but with one eye – Stretching her ears, and not moving lest she misses falls of feet, Of some naughty brutal man who may want to break into her house, and ravish her. It’s like in a forest, With only herself to hear breathe; And to hear sigh – Her eyes fixed on the scrambling curtain of a broken window, Feeling the cold of a frigid wind that blew the trees To rustle with a noise burdened with guilt. Agitatedly peeking at her locked door Biting her tongue in the loneliness of her blues and her qualms; Her threadbare blanket blows dust and makes her sneeze, and expectorate – ail! Lightest things of her belongings blown away from her ragged stands and whacks on the floor; O dear old she! Never does she rest, Because whenever she learns to slumber Is already dawn –and has she to wake up And accomplish her daily chores, again.