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 _____________________________________________ 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) __________________________________________________