The lady was a tramp

it gurgled as it gushed like a man in pain.. 

and when the bath was empty it left a tide mark stain with a gritty, grubby griminess grain..

This lady was a tramp and she lived on the streets..

but tonight she would be in a bed with white cotton sheets.. 

like one of the snooty, hoity toity folks from London’s elites that snubbed their noses at her as she sat slouched on the seats..

But today of alldays she was taken into care..

from a passerby who couldn’t leave her there..

slumped in agonising pain on a wooden chair..

as she clung onto her rosemary beads whispering a prayer..

Homelessness had hit her hard now she hadn’t her youth.. 

yet she was well used to critisism from the uncaring uncouth.. 

when they needed to make a call from a telephone booth..