The Old Beggar Woman
Her struggling gait and wrinkled face
Reflected grief for her dead mate.
She’d lost her family at great cost
Before she entered society’s lost.
I passed her every day on streets
And thought she was a deadbeat.
She did not have delusions grand
And only craved a kindly hand.
She limped her way down city streets
With no one’s help and nil to eat.
She had no home and widely roamed
Before she spent her nights alone.
Her shrunken frame and knotted mane
Hid the fact that she was lame.
She struggled for her every breath
And every day she cheated death.
Ghosts like her die alone
And no one hears their final moan.
They fade away like apparitions,
Victims of Man’s blindered vision.
Copyright © Steven Getz | Year Posted 2024
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