She writes on her apron with a colored chalk.
Dear Customer,
I provide you tasty food at all to buy few oxygen for my weak lungs.
Very touching. Your compassion becomes you. You have a gift for creating vivid, memorable people. Always your friend at poemhunter, Sandra
since when do we have to pay for oxygen? Lol
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
There is something hauntingly wistful about this poem about the indignity of poverty. So sad. love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥