Loneliness from her body
Shines like the moon
As she stares at me
From a dark window.
Her bones shine through
Haunted, jaundiced skin,
Radiating the night coming pain
Of her ending self.
The leaves from the Poplar trees
Sweep beneath her window
In the glass dance of silence
Like timid helpless creatures.
Her face of chiselled solitude
Shrunken in hunger of poverty
Her eyes a glass blowers fire
That melts with accusation.
1997
Malaysian writer, author, and storyteller
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Mikes New Web 
Beautiful work! I love that second to last stanza especially 👏
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It was a lonesome day in the east end as I went to spend my new dole money check at the supermarket and there the poor old lady was, staring from the window like a ghost.
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