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The Street Woman
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By N/A
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The Street Woman

Small, hunched form on littered streets
her secrets her own treasures,
the woman shuffles neglected feet,
and remembers the purple fields
of heather

her strange and lonely trudging now
foreign to the way she was,
on days of running up and down
her Gaelic hills and kirks so true

yet same of heart, she still holds tight
to the sweet love of her homeland
the lochs by which she strolled at night
etching dreams with her young man

she sees no crowd, no dust, no tears
her rags to her are braided gold
the passersby look down in scorn
but the woman never feels the cold
(1994)


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Submitted: Friday, April 26, 2002

Last Updated: Friday, April 26, 2002

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