The Blind Girl

I pass her by, outside a pub, seemingly waiting for a person, Yet I stopped at once and looked more closely at her spent and wretched expression.
She seemed trapped by poverty, a clenching cage,
No more a child yet not yet of age,
It’s obvious she has felt what others could not want to see,
So much pain and suffering, you’d ask, how can it be?
But there she sits, among the flies,
And tired emotions simmer behind her empty eyes.
Her legs bear marks of when she was young,
The boys would throw stones to see her run.
Breaks upon her mending spine,

crippling one who should be tall,
Bruises on her body wound her pride,

etching in her, every fall.
We are the people who pleasure at her loss,

laughing out at failure we see.
No one wants to share what is given from above,

for less for her means more for me.


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