She waits in shadow of the shelter
Ducking sleet that seeks to pelt her
Pulling coat as thin as cotton
Around a figure gaunt, forgotten
A full-up used old shopping bag
Makes weary shoulder further sag
Bereft her life of prize and blessings
This bag holds all her life’s possessions
She is both seen and soon ignored
By crowds compelled to surge toward
The shrine of busy, gilded shelves
Thinking only of themselves
Too busy with their self-conceit
They look aside, can’t deign to greet
She won’t impose, nor tread on toe
She stands aside, so first you’ll go
And makes her way to where she rests
Four walls, a door and no regrets
Our lives go on, and so does hers
The day she passes, no air stirs
We won’t spare second in regard
To life so derelict and hard
To think of this, is all I ask
In recognition of this lapse
Let’s open eyes so we may see
That outreach offers charity
Let tenderness shape aim and mind
For are we all not human-kind?