Too Late to Hide
A pile of rags in a concrete river,
Moved just a little to follow the sun.
It’s owner did little more than shiver,
Barely aware that the day had begun.
Her clawlike hand grasped the grocery cart,
Her worldly possessions were lodged within.
Slowly she rose and prepared to depart,
Her long, lonely day about to begin.
Too late to hide when she heard the voices,
Of bullies who preyed on the old and weak.
As this left her with limited choices,
She resolved, if approached, she would not speak.
Too soon, five young toughs sauntered into view,
Swaggering, cursing, and looking for prey.
She stood stock still and hoped they would pass through,
But they saw her and attacked straight away.
As wind blows a pile of raked leaves around,
And scatters them over an autumn yard,
They swept her, near weightless, across the ground,
And threw her down onto the concrete, hard.
The last thing she heard as darkness rolled in,
Was her cart being broken and destroyed.
Though a wave of pain soon made her head spin,
She just felt violated and annoyed.
She tried to sit up, but found she could not,
Part of her was broken, down deep inside.
Exposed to the wind in this open spot,
Many stronger than she succumbed and died.
A pleasant voice called her little mother,
And strong arms carried her out of the gale.
He said they’d get to know one another,
As he sought to give aid in her travail.
He looked almost as disheveled as she,
And looked as substantial as fog or mist,
As he built a fire that burned brilliantly,
With a sleepy warmth she could not resist.
He sang to her such a beautiful song,
Her soul felt as free as a bird in flight.
Her pain disappeared and it wasn’t long,
Till she flew away toward the golden light.
Anyone who saw The Minstrel that day,
Saw tearful eyes as he faded away.
On earth, hell is being totally alone.