THE POOR OLD LADY ON THE CROSSWALK
Busy as a street could ever be
Everyone's eyes veiled but me
In this busy anthill
A poor old lady gave a shrill
Struggling on a zebra, a daily drill.
As every ant, loaded, hurriedly passed by
To the poor lady I gave a wide smile.
Met by a worn-out stare
I noticed my gesture was to her a scare
"Mom, let me help you cross," I said to her.
Sensing the genuineness in that smile
She handed me her hand, gave a high sigh.
Her panting could not just stop
As if her poor breath was on the cross
Ready to be nailed for crucifixion.
On the other side of the road
The sun shines again, brighter.
Her poor old heart breathes lighter
A weight lifted from her tired soul
And I, too, feel a little more whole.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
