The Solitary Picker

She was the solitary picker

Of the rags on the garbage litter

Clean and methodical

In choosing her bread and butter

Ironically derived from dirt and clutter.

The rags on the pile were the means of living

But crib she did not about anything

Duty to her was supreme

Never missed a day in sun or rain

Walkers passed her by ignoring her presence

She was much used to such pretence.

Then one morning when I smiled at her

Confused, she turned away with a stir

Stirred with the attention she did not command

And little did she know to demand

She was beaten and bruised at home

Yet, was on the job at dawn.

One morning I saw her with a little girl

Standing and gazing the school boundary wall

Curious to know her desire

I waited to see her and admire

The courage and determination

To seek an admission

Into a life of dignity and recognition

For someone who needed her protection

She succeeded in it or not I will know never

But my heart salutes the solitary picker.

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