The Ragpicker

The Ragpicker

She stared at her face,
In the tiny mirror.
Gone was the youth,
And the beauty of yesteryears.

Her face was withered,
Her hair was a riotous mess.
She was clothed in rags,
And scavenged for food.

She still reminisced,
About the glory days of yore,
When heads had turned,
As she strode across the roads.

She had posed like a picture,
For many a painter,
And stood like a statue,
For several sculptors.

She had be...