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.
Copyright © Choene Alley Semenya | Year Posted 2015
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