Tuesday, November 05, 2013
To keep her sagging shoulders warm.
Her bonnet's deck with rusty flower,
An apple basket's on her arm,
And with a dusty, rustly sound
Her wide skirts sweep along the ground.
She trudges up the sunset hills,
In spite of winds a-blowing,
To seek a shelter on beyond -
She must know where she's going -
For, wrapped in Paisley red and brown,
She rustles, rustles through the town.