The Bag Lady
A little old lady, with a sad smiling face,
living her life at her own gentle pace,
she wanders the highways and byways all day,
looking for somewhere for her next night-time stay.
A doorway, a bus stop, or a bench in a park,
just somewhere to rest through the hours of dark.
When her family all left her, she chose this sad life,
but she's somebody's mother, was somebody's wife.
Her husband , god bless him, has long since passed on,
and it's years since she's seen either daughter or son;
so she took to the streets like a little grey mouse,
when the home that she cared for became just a house.
Her hair is bedraggled, her clothes are in rags,
and she carries her life in two carrier bags.
There are threads hanging down from the hem of her skirt,
and the shoes that she wears let in water and dirt.
Her hat and her scarf barely keep out the cold,
such a change from her days wearing diamonds and gold.
In her heyday she wore just the finest of things
and attracted the glances of princes and kings;
But too soon her looks, like her money, had gone,
her husband had died and her children moved on.
Her home was a house now, all empty and cold,
and nobdy cares now she's lonely and old.
So she took to the streets for her new way of life,
a rejected mother, long since widowed wife.
Now she's nothing to worry her weathered grey head,
except where she's going to make her next bed.
So she wanders the streets at her own gentle pace,
a little old lady with a sad smiling face.
© Alan Davis