Here now blows a gentle breeze,
like a teddy, nods coconut trees.
A mud wall and a thatched roof,
lives a widow with scarcity as proof.
She is lonely but not alone,
faith resides deep in her bone.
In mid-June, a sun kissed porch,
the golden straws, ready to scorch.
Dark clouds by start of May,
wet those walls everyday.
Pain and tears swept in rain,
frail she grows, as seasons gain.
Moneylenders knock her all day,
she lives in shame, in this way.
Passed more than eighty springs,
yet no relief her Almighty brings!
Prasenjit©1997-2012
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