The Waste Picker

She's a little girl aging nine or ten, Short, serene, slim, with a look luminous; Obtaining no formal education, Possessing many a dream glorious; At sharp five, every morning, her day dawns, Her dirty sack she takes and off she goes; Roads, rail tracks, parks, and even private lawns, What will she get? And where? She never knows; Parents long unwell and struggling siblings, She serves them utmost with care abundant; She collects old bottles, pans, iron strings, Exchanges and makes a meager amount; Thus, the little goddess solemnly toils, Feeds all, sleeps hungry, often, full of smiles. 05/02/2021 Open Poetry 4 Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Charlotte Puddifoot