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I saw an old woman who was

Walking down the street.

Her face had wrinkles,

And her smile was sweet.


Her legs were supported

By an old steel cane.

You could tell she hurt,

For her eyes reflected pain.


She held her head high,

Wanted people to see,

She didn’t need their pity

But respect, like you and me.


She gave them a nod

And said a soft ” hello.”

They quickly looked away,

And  stared at their toes.


Not a word did they speak,

As they walked away from her.

She held her tears within

And felt her eyes blur.


She had gone to a Clinic,

Where she held a child’s hand.

She gave her some comfort

And promised to stand


By her side and be there,

To help her with pain,

To see her through surgery,

And talk with her again.


When she left the Clinic,

She walked down the street a ways.

She saw a poor man sitting,

Slumped, in a daze.


She reached inside her purse

And took out a piece of pie,

That was wrapped in a sack

And saw a grown man cry.


When she went home that night,

She ate her meal alone.

No one reached out to her

On the telephone.


She wondered why she was alive,

Why no one seemed to care,

Or miss her when she was gone.

Why was life not fair?


Why did she feel so guilty

Wanting so much more?

Perhaps life is sacrifice.

What was she waiting for?