Faith

In a supermarket yard, lovely face washed, by rain and river salt, always dressed decent, her trolley for a cross, sees them lay blankets, spirits without a spark, they sit here to rest, it's a quare clerk, not put out infrequent, when clearing the mess, but thinks of the loss, they all rob at Primark, she shops at Hugo Boss, her life is not stark, if you pause a momwnt, best you don't forget, each of us is vagrant, they are like larks, rise to tife's lash, there's not a cart, to fill all the wants. ,