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
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