The Old Hag

The old hag
The bent back, old tatty clothes
And the walking stick

The old hag
Down-at-heel
Digging in her big toe,
Scurrying after were the other toes
To walk a step forward
With the help of the walking stick

The old hag
Mingling into the crowd
Yet so much apart,
Differing from the rest
Deferring on each step

The old hag
Her face wrinkled -
Wizened with age?
Not entirely so
The gleaming eyes
Still held a merry twinkle
Her lips stretched
In what looked like a smile
Looking ahead, bent over the walking stick

Passersby often hear a cackle -
Of laughter?
Was that a witch?
They wonder in fright
Bent over a broom?
No, that was a walking stick!
Nearer to her,
An unmistakable whiff of floral fragrance

The old hag
In tatty clothes
The bent back on the walking stick

Reached the corner of the 5th Avenue;
Digging in the walking stick,
Pulled at her raggedy shawl
To fold up and arrange on the cobbled path
Then sat herself down on it,
And set aside her walking stick

The old hag
Then pulled upright a board that said:
"Hear your fortune from Carmine for a dollar!"