Wednesday, June 14, 2017

A cailin in her prime


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

8 comments:

  1. Oh, 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? :)

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  2. There are a lot of people in doorways in Canada these days, between addictions and inflation. A sad ending to this story.

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  3. A solemn yet vivid piece, thanks for sharing and greetings!

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  4. God called her early to His abode...

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  5. It is so sad, but how to help? Vexing.

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  6. ohhh... death always makes me sad

    So well written

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