She lived her life unnoticed, tucked away Among the cobwebs on a dingy street Where neighbors shunned her alien retreat, And called her odd, and children paused in play To scan her withered countenance, still gay Above the tatters of her satin gown. She overlooked the prying eyes in town, Drifting in silent dreams of yesterday. So when she died, crude hands among her things Seeking a clue to former friend or kin Found in the remnants of old crinoline Torn manuscripts and poetry with wings, Old tales of Bagdad or of dim Cathay, That yield a fortune to her heirs today. |