A Letter To A Friend

so they say from way back they did know her,
of all pleasantries and praises her they shower,
but i of no interest and an accident her came to know,
not much of an angel but more like a rusty bottle top,
that had been on many a beast stampede,
her hair full of mites that in and out did take flight,
her lips too dry petroleum jelly would be of no help,
her eye lashes a bush that never a gardener dream had,
she was never jolly,
but a mean faced demon,
from the bins she fed,
on the streets she slept,
and out of pity i took her in,
taught her to hold a cup,
and how to take a meal from a plate,
taught the difference between a spoon and a fork,
she barely understood,
and with years i taught her of life out of the streets,
taught her of the importance of a shower,
and why one wore inner garments,
and thanks for my samaritarian help a toilet she knew how to use...
and now to those same streets she walks,
in difference and modesty,
a student that the teacher she did smart,
and men praises of her they sing,
knowing a few that of her they awaken and sleep thinking of,
and they write and sing of her all day,
yet sit scared to tell her of their heart felt warmth,
scared that mine she be,
but confessions i do make,
this damsel i picked from the streets,
a commandment on neighbours was i but keeping,
so you don't be wary of if or if not she be mine,
my work i did and the rest be yours,
the mites are gone,
and no longer the stench of bins does she stink,
a spoon and fork she does differentiate,
and worry not about those plastic bags,
for the toilet she now can use..


©2011