The Bag Lady

Old with wisdom they say A long life she lived Wrinkles tell her story well The crow’s feet gauge her eyes Dull, colored grey now Without a spark in sight. Time is for the birds The clock has not been kind to her. A life of wealth or poverty stricken Neither what the story books foretell Banished to life alone. Her husband, gone He was dead and gone years ago Overcome with death, they say Even alive, he was still dead His destiny had been written on his face. She must have expected it. And so she carried on the same Day in and day out Setting the timer for the corn bread Like watching life run out of breath. Time is for the birds. She will accompany him soon, That timer is almost ready to sound. She must be expecting it; Destiny has begun to write its self on her face. She watched him die well before he ran out of life And now she will carry on the same. You’d think she’d do something differently Like take a bite of forbidden fruit But rather than trying to live She will simply follow suit And live to die. Time is for the birds.