�
�
Sunday morning, looking out the front window
The condensation blurry and wet
But my vision was all too clear enough to see
A scene that I couldn�t help to forget
�
An elderly woman with mismatched clothes
Toiling across the empty street
Large garbage bags hanging low and heavy
From the shopping cart that dragged with her feet
�
She came up to the gate like a casual guest
And walked blindly into the yard
Surprised to see a stranger in this presence
I paced and my heart grew hard
�
The sound of glass clinked under the porch
Sounds that shook through my nerves
My desperation made me fumble right
To give what she truly deserves
�
Back to the window, still there, walking back
Towing her new treasures towards the cart
I swallowed hard and creeped down the stairs
Towards the gate to do my part
�
Leaning forward, I gave a long caring look
As the woman stood stuffing the bags to breakage complete
I said,�Why do you do this?,� she smiled
Replying with reasons of sickness and grief
�
I handed her my five, the best I could do
A patch to help her shattered grief to mend
And all she could do through her accented lips
Is bless me over and over again�
�
She turned her cart as it ricketed downward
I watched her step along the icy way
Going back to the house, I contemplated
That I was just living another day
-Copyright �2000�K.�Monge'
