She drifted toward our group
On a scent of wintergreen
And mint, and some cheap cologne,
The name of which was 'Unknown.'

I realized
She was all our dreams
Gone bad, but really,
She was rather sad,
Pitiful in her homeless estate.

She sang softly, to herself,
In a sing-song, off-key tone,
Talking to someone else,
Though we saw she was alone.

Her old shabby, torn-up coat,
And the woolen scarf at her throat,
Was all she had to keep her warm
And safe from all harm,

But she wore a red-rosed hat,
And cheap jewelry of this and that
Pinned to her coat,
And at her throat.

As she passed us by,
All we could do was sigh...
And think, 'There, but for
The Grace of God,
Go I.'


(7/12/07)

Scarlett Treat

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/poor-lily/