Dear Lady of countless years
walking down these market streets
carrying fresh vegetables
and a load of laundry balanced
high atop your head;
Lady of a thousand wrinkles
distorting your aged face,
Lady of wreaking breath
of timeless death,
somnambulist Lady
weary, slow-moving
Lady of aching feet
overweight, stench ridden
old and quickly rotting,
unworthy of the winds,
Lady of misery
Lady of time
Lady of life
Lady of pain and ever-flowing tears
almost bald, unattractive Lady
virgin-like spinster
Lady of warts,
Lady without a song,
unwanted, rejected
forgotten, lonely
worthless!

Dear Lady,
you keep walking down those
market streets carrying
your fresh vegetables
and heavy load above your head
because despite your inadequacies,
you are a Lady nonetheless.

©Wilson Santos 1995