On her mother’s stone step, she sits and dreams

The same step she cleaned and crossed so often

Her dress, crisp and clean in the sunshine gleams

This backstreet beauty, rare rose in blossom

What whims flicker through her wandering mind

Perchance what prospect does life hold in store

Will her journey be gentle not unkind?

Shall her story be one of less not more?

In...

Read and leave comments (3)