Raindrops on her wrinkles
the snow covers her feet
you can hear her teeth tinkle
one more sleepless night in the street.

She used to be a housewife.
woke up at seven all mornings
after breakfast played the fife
always pithy in her warnings.

Now she is carrying her bag
and misery walks with her
her clothes a dirty old rag
no-one wants to be with her.

Below her saggy eyes run sad tears
clearing up a trace in the soot
a life of endurance for years
has changed her smile and mood.

She has no name or home
She roams alone each night
She uses no soap or comb
and never gives up the fight.

She used to own a house in the past
smiled at her children from the kitchen.
She's learned these things do not last
now she tried hard to reach'em.

Against the wind and society
she dares to fight her own battle.
She's not looking for piety
just to let her not be throttled.

Tony, September '95

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