The Root of All Evil

A crying woman, water-soft,
was clinging to a lamp
to hold her from the grasping hands
that tugged to pull her pride away.
She wept for naught, the morning clear
cared not for both her cries or fears.
‘Twas only me, upon the street,
that witnessed hateful lust of man.

She glimpsed a worried glance and turned,
to rake it with her pleas;
it turned its face to walk its way away,
and never looked again.
Now ‘oft I wonder what took place,
behind that sallow frown and face;
I beheld this terrible thing to see
and gained my lack of empathy.