Her pasty face intrigued me
Her eyes were sad and wan
They told me her sad story
Of her better days long gone
She sat there in the doorway
Her scent was apalling
Beer bottle in her hand
She now began to sing
Sounding liker an Irish air
Despite her squalor now
She sang of Erin's isle
To return there was her vow
I thought of who she had been
Revelling with a beau
A cailin in her prime
So many long years ago
Then a few weeks later on
Her alcove quite empty
Passing her nightly squat
As she'd died while still twenty
Note Cailin is Irish for - Young girl
Image found at www.korhaber.com
Sad but too often true
ReplyDeleteOh, no! I was hoping there was still time for you to take her home and give her a bath! Can't you rewrite the ending? :)
ReplyDeleteThere are a lot of people in doorways in Canada these days, between addictions and inflation. A sad ending to this story.
ReplyDeleteA solemn yet vivid piece, thanks for sharing and greetings!
ReplyDeleteso sad
ReplyDeleteGod called her early to His abode...
ReplyDeleteIt is so sad, but how to help? Vexing.
ReplyDeleteohhh... death always makes me sad
ReplyDeleteSo well written