Dejected eyes tear as her memories are sold,
The auctioneer’s voice rings out fast and cold.
She tries to reach out and grasp her treasure,
To that one memory that gave her pleasure.
Alas, the memory slips through her transparent hand,
Confusion crosses her sad eyes, she can’t understand.
She beseeches an on looker, “Sir, please listen to me,
Why must you buy my memories?”
For a moment he looks as if he heard,
But sadly he understood not a word.
She swallows a lump; a voice stops her retreat,
“You no longer live on this street.”
“It’s time to come home,” an angel replies,
Gently wiping the tears from her eyes.
She looks up, smiling and taking his outstretched hands,
With humble radiance, she now understands.
She turns back for one last look, to say her good-bye,
In the angels assured embrace towards heaven they fly.