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.

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