Bag Lady

Our lady of the swaddled feet. And squeaking shopping cart. What saintly sacrificial street? Leads to your deepest heart? What sorrows bind you to this way? That leads to utter dark. What soul was saved the other day, When they chased you from the park? What promise did you hope to find? In the belly of the beast? Salvation of an alien kind. The most laid on the least. Maddonna of the mismatched heels. And tattered shopping bags. whose torn and dirty robe reveals, Another layer of rags. Where are those who called you mother? Where are those who'll make you whole? What has happened, that some other, Needing spirit rules your soul? Tell me, does the golden light reach, Past the canyons concrete walls? What gospel do the neon lights teach? When the cold cold evening falls? There are mansions made of cardboard. come and lay your weary head. Dream a dream to serve as reward. Should the morning find you dead. Oh shabby sister sinister. Poor restless urban nun. Whose sorrows do you minister? when your time on earth be done. will the afterword be written? In the deep blue of regret? For the heart so cruelly smitten. That remembered to forget? I bide this prayer to your dear heart. And pray He knew you well. There was more inside your shopping cart. Than any man could tell.Hold each other dear Written January 20th, 2002 © on Jan 20 2002 04:31 AM PST, Patric Patterson    18 • 0 • 1