Alder's catkins swang along the husks
while she danced her rice to the wind whirl
night was nigh, day had just sunk to dusk
so her back she rested, for bundles there lay
with wood were days, just jingles but her pay
with rice her womb she fed, with crumbs her shell
In time her hope sat, at dawns she rose to hustle
Yet at dusk there lay, her own in wait her mum her girl
©lewteb
L