The Flower Girl Poem by Rex Mathew Mathew

I met your heroine today, on the roadside.
She's just as broken as you painted her.
The child still sells flowers for a living,
And still wears that soiled, tattered frock.
She skipped about those sour streets,
Begging every passerby to see her flowers.
Everyone felt sorry for her abused body.

I approached her and asked for a flower.
A smile spread across her dreary complexion.
'You're an artist, aren't you? '
Her sad, weary eyes understood everything.
'I have met all sorts of artists.
They have been here to paint me, photograph me,
And some have even composed tragedies on me.'
I told her that they were all trying to help.
'It's not that. I just make a good subject.'
Her bruised hands lifted to me a rose,
'I prefer those who come for the flowers, instead of me'.

I took it, looked at her and asked hesitantly,
'May I write on you? '.
She smiled yet again. That same haunting smile.
'For a change, will you write on the artists who sell me? '