Mona Two

In a supermarket yard, lovely face washed, by rain and river salt, dressed always decent, her trolley for a cross, she sees them lay blankets, spirits without a spark, they sit there to rest, it's a rare clerk, not put to the test, when clearing this park, not to think of the lost, they all do at Primark, she shops in Lidle, but life is so stark, she can never forget them, they are like larks, next to the chapel, if there’s ever a chart, to pause for a moment, bring food to no marks, each of us vagrant.