the beggar

[tmega]

from sun-up to sun-down, she's there
sitting cross-legged on her old rugged mat
in fair and foul weather she's a constant feature
the sun shines down in earnest on her bent back
no shelter form the wrath of the pelting rain
straggly locks of hair depending from a scaly scalp
parched lips moving pathetically in soliloquy
gnarled fingers steadfastly clutching her bowl
rheumy eyes fervently scanning her surroundings
in its bony enclave, her frail heart is ever hopeful
expecting the emergence of a benevolent soul
one who will flip a coin or fold a note into her bowl
from sun-up to sun-down, she's there
sitting cross-legged on her old rugged mat