Migration
She leads her army up and down,
two sides of Main Street, and is found
companioned by three basset hounds.
They follow, closely, at her heels
like foundlings gathered round
I've often wondered where she goes,
with shopping cart, and dogs in tow.
Tweed on her back, scarves on her hair,
regardless of the temperature
She never speaks, but no one cares.
with eyes like windows, dark and clear.
A friendly clerk will wave hello,
while patrons share a coin or two.
We help her fill her cart with food,
her needs are scant, her wants are few.
When spring arrives, she'll sit and rest
upon the bench, within the shade
to watch daily passing parade
She'll stay awhile, become our friend,
then disappear, as summer ends
Dark hooded eyes have not revealed,
just why she migrates, what compiles
her secret story, or where she goes.
She's a soldier of frenetic times
where clocks tick fast, and seasons change.
She holds the leash like it's her string
to keep the world within her hands
A solemn ritual, we have seen
again, again, where has she been?
And through the seasons, we have grown,
more curious, yet pleased to bend
a little more to understand
She stays until the autumn comes
But winter knows her silent song
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4/29/16
Contest: Second Place Contest
Sponsor Laura Loo
(Based on a real person that we often see on the streets of our small town)
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Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2016
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