by revbillcook

Of course resentment is the thing I feel,

Anger too; they should not allow them here.

These piles of rags. Ugly eyes that sow

Seeds of guilt, and of course the open hands.

The day was perfect. Sun thorough trees. The shops:

Attractive, quaint. Awnings: green and blue.

Then there she was. How dare she intrude!

I was determined not to stop.

As quickly as I could I hurried by

Then looking back I saw her unfurl wings, and fly.