The lost soul

She sat quietly, lost in her grief...

Stumbling on a flagstone, I found my feet
Rising to meet the unseeing eye
of one who seemed afar
From the street, the world, me.

The child-woman on the kerb
sat hunched beside her precious
ragged bundle of probably
nothing - that matters to 'us'.

Staring into the distance
through watery eyes in a
brown face, streaked with
a single dusty tear-stain.

Her armour a tattered shawl
Wrapped around her head
Wisps of grey showing, though
her face was young.

What had she lost, what
was her grief, did she even
know - was she even there?
I was too afraid to ask.

Besides - I told myself - I
don't speak her tongue.
Because I'd found my feet,
I kept walking on.