Like a robot
She walks
Down forbidden
Walk-ways
Places where only
The privileged dwell
Not her
In her eiderdown dress
Pink pantaloons
Corsets
And long socks
She a walkabout
One who never rests
Only to eat
When food is near
She cannot see through
Dark misty windows
At those who eat
At leisure
But wait
They may throw
A morsel
On a bone
A leg of lamb
A half stale
Loaf of bread
Onto a dirty pavement
That is her home
And here she catches
Crumbs
So she lives
Not dies
Yet death
Is an inviting
Proposition
She would want
If not that
She had things
To do…
NOW
And now
she waits
Alone
Not wanting
To disturb
The happy
Gathering
Yet being on the
Outside
Once more
The one lingering
Alone
Hanging out the washing
Doing the vegetables
Making food
Thinking of life
how she
Will make it through
These dark ages
not finding
Yet seeking
Always
While others
Enjoy time
In nature
At parties
Festivals
Singing
Laughing
Eating
Not her
She is too far away
From them
She simply wishes
To be loved
Warm
And cosy
Under blankets
Not bed-sheets
But wool
Like a sheep
Feeling animal
Fur
The kind that
Makes her feel
she is not alone
But loved
By the animal kingdom
when they wrap
Themselves around
Her
She knows she is not
Away from everyone
But has her feline
Companion
By her side
sheep wool
Around her ears
she can at least
Pretend
That something is
Good in her
World
When somehow
It is not
She takes a stride
Up a hill
To cleanse away
Dark shadows
Yet they remain
In thick dust
Under the pillows
Still seeping
Into the bed-sheets
Like black spiders
Waiting to pounce
When she least
Expects
That is all
It is not light
In her world
But dark
And only
Her sheep’s wool
Blanket
Will keep her warm
This night…