The Last Organ Grinder

In poverty's desperation She finds the old organ Where it's stored under the stair. It belongs to the man who is gone Leaving her and his children alone, This cold winter turned into despair. Frozen air surrounds her, As she grinds out the tunes Almost alone on the street. The warmth of windows watch her, Their families safely ensconced As she trudges home. She knows Her children will eat only turnips again.