Her face is like a map of the world
shaped and moulded by age.
Her eyes, deep dark oceans of sorrow
pushing you against it’s current.
She tells a story of fear, disappointment and anger
yet she doesn’t speak a word.
It is all evident,
in the deep lines and contours
strewn across her face.
She is covered from head to toe
but still feels naked.
Like a poem,
She is open for interpretation
Everyone that passes her by has a story to tell:
“She’s a witch!!!” cry the little children
Excitement in their eyes
“An old lonely woman” say the men,
shaking their heads in pity.
“I heard she rejected all her suitors.” Chatter the women
scornfully
Despite theses assumptions and accusation,
No one knows her better than she knows herself.