Stella

They call her Stella
No one knows her real name
She just turned up, one day, on the corner of Lloyds,
Shuffling in a shabby coat, two sizes too big, against the rain,
Against the cold and damp,
Against life in general,
An unimportant shadow,
Painted in a smudge of grey,
On cloudy streets of stone.
All nerves and edgy
She never speaks
Lost in her own suffering
An invisible bundle
Undone and fallen
Living in a troubled mind.

But

She sings like an angel,
Damaged and threadbare,
On broken colours of the heart
Unshaken
Her song between the lines of many
Shaming the day
And for a moment the weary streets listens
Until enough change had been gifted
For cigarettes and gin.

Rag Tag Daily Prompt #18: Stellar

Rag Tag Daily Prompt #19. Shaken

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