The Walking Woman
She thinks she’s ugly,
because her face is a different shape.
She walks in shadows
and under over hangs,
head held down,
hugging close to buildings,
to avoid being seen.
Yet every morning I see her
just the same,
and every morning I say “Hi”,
just the same.
and every morning I hear
a tiny little “Hello”
echoed back to me
from beneath the safe cover
of her chestnut brown hair.
But this morning I didn’t see her,
time passed,
and she didn’t,
and I was concerned,
and it saddened me to realize,
that in her sad reality of life,
I’m probably
the only one.
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