I saw her as I passed her corner Dressed in shabby black She sat on a broken box Selling newspapers A tired old woman Her hands folded across her papers Hands veined deep with purple, toil worn hands Clutching a torn handkerchief, knotted Close with pennies. Before her the street and passersby unheeded With her head bowed upon her breast, she sat there Worn, utterly weary, she was asleep. |