 Tuesday, June 22nd 2004, by Marissa A Spencer
Vagabond’s Purse
There is nothing left than a vagabond’s purse
Filled with trinkets from many lands
Each at one time treasured
Now just tinkling icons of no value
One can hear them jingling with empty promise
Buy this lovely scarf, or a nights lodging
It is but a lonely sound in the dark night
Deceptions carried by hand into the heart
Hopes are crushed in the realized day
As a soul is bought and sold with tin
They gather what pride they can
And face the proprietor’s extracted price
© July 7, 2003 Marissa A Spencer
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