Sitting by the door of a hut

I found the Old lady

She was quiet and calm

Her grey hair scattered on her almost bald head

Her wrinkled face glowed as the sun shines on her face

She's been bent over for years 

She had no children of her own 

She was all alone 

She became a widow at sixty 

Got married at forty 

Her life could have been so miserable of she had no family left

She would wake up as early as six

Walk down to the river behind the trees

Pray to the gods for her deceased husband

Who left her nothing but his headband 

After the prayers, she'd walk home with the help of her stick

No one dares greet her in the Village 

For she was regarded as a witch 

She'd walk back home in agony and pain

Head to her only brother's house to feed for the day 

Before returning to her hut 

Which she built before she got married, to rest. 

 © Michael Blessing