She toiled the soil, Battling life on dusty land Hungry, poor, sans no foil.
Wrinkled forehead oozing brine Prime of youth, age showing sign Ribs wrapped in filthy rag I doubt what hue it was No frown, no cringe, no fuss, no whine But life is full of flaws.
A little urchin weighing down her waist She walks on Trudging calm and bold But lighter than the bulk of soil Her matted head could hold.
She reeked of life Of life that stunk and stung Of struggle and sweat Her skin parched but wet.
Fistful of rice scattered on dust Grey, granular, grotty Streaked sallow cheeks, mouth a-crust
Tonight bellies will rumble again No end to the pain.
Eyes glistened but no turmoil, Cursing flimsy weak hand, She soiled her toil.
