A desperate heart,
tattered and torn and forgotten.
Stomped and grinded into
concrete of her life.
Praying for something.
Anything to undo what's been done.
To finally say what's been left unsaid for so many years.
If you see her on the street,
Do you smile
or do you look down at the sidewalk
and ignore her pleading eyes?
The fingers on her two rough hands
lock together nightly in prayer.
I wouldn't think so.
So you are able to buy out a jewelry store.
She is able to tell a story without ever speaking.
Who's the richer?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem