A frail figure huddles in a cold, dark and dismal corner of poverty being beaten
By a swirling funnel of dried, cracked leaves amongst liter and paper of despair
Confusion feeds her hunger and fear quenches the thirst of days past midnight
She hears the sound of liter striking the paper and dried leaves that blanket her.
Making eerie sounds of the leaves being dragged against the concrete sidewalks
Giving a pulse to this world that harvest's a union between the bleak and careless
Let's call her the Every-Woman that's lost in the shuffle of a jungle of no escape
So much sorrow well hidden in dark alleys where crumbling decayed bricks hide
She tells stories of brutal rapes, stabbings, shootings and rampant drugs galore
Wasted lives going absolutely nowhere on the streets of "Beg, Borrow and Steal"
A city that never sleeps, one eye needs to be open for the fear of being attacked
The wind steadily blows and howls through narrow streets that has gotten darker.
She selected a corner with two street geyser's that heat the sidewalks most nights
If the old man should lay a carpet of white, water will be your mattress and sheets
But until then, keeping warm wrapped in newspapers is a wise thing for her to do
With dawn being her friend, the day will look brighter,
"IF MAN WOULD BE KINDER",
TO ALL THINGS!
by Richard Lee Cook
An SILVERFEATHER Creation