An everlasting smile,
A mad twinkle in her eyes,
Worn out with time,
Small in her size.
Every belonging,
Of hers is packed away,
In small plastic bags,
That she carries all day.
She walks up to strangers,
For she hates to be alone,
She always moves around,
She doesn't have a home.
Holes in her leggings,
And a ripped, dirty dress,
She wears all her clothes,
Nothing more, nothing less.
Curly grey hair,
A bad memory,
She suffers much pain,
Yet still seems happy.
21/10/09
Author notes
Once when I went to England, I saw a bag lady walking across the streets. She suddenly went up to a random person and started talking to them. When the person walked away she continued talking to herself. All the while I saw her she seemed to be smiling. I have described her in this poem.
Give your honest oppionion!
Comments
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Wow...I love that poem, and i like where you had got your idea from. I love the flow of the rhyme. The descriptiveness. I can almost image a scene of her. You made me feel unhappy for her. And to make someone feel something in a poem is fabulous. Your a great poet keep on penning!
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