Mother of Cripples

A restless shadow of a fiddler's elbow

Plays a tune to staggering feet

The burden of his songs, the looking glass scorns

At this disfigured, odious face

Indeed alone, hugging my breast

The sun I neglect, in darkness I roam

Offerings of flowers on a barren grave

Where my body will lie, uncared and unwept

Idle bait, my shawl on the lattice

Someone may see it, perhaps look my way

No thread of sympathy unites me to man

I lay softly down once again

Within my aged walls taunts and vexations

Fragments of a tune play most mournfully

With sadness in my voice I break the solemn stillness

My drooping head falls on languid hands

Ancient of days, creator of life

From the womb you have formed me, my vile sight you love

Covered by your shadow, held within your hand

Made within your likeness, precious am I?

The glare of a sinking flame binds me to my clay...

Offerings of flowers I rest in the earth

My body will lie uncared and unwept