USED GOODS

By

John G. Sutton

Windy Cold February morning

Dark clouds stalking the sky

Threatening the market place

With tears from a time gone by

Woman with faded flowers

Stands by her used goods stall

No one wants her paper roses

Then the rain begins to fall

Those sad unwanted petals

Do they recall the day?

When in their prime they shimmered

One summertime far away

The woman shuffles sadly

Her hands and feet grow cold

Standing by her market stall

She can feel herself grow old

And like those forlorn flowers

That no one cares to own

She slowly, slowly fades away

Into the dark alone.

                                   (c) John G. Sutton 1996                               BACK