She Lived Alone

She lived alone in her little old hut

And she earned the things she had

No one came with a cherry word,

“She is filthy, dirty, they said.

She worked and toiled with her poor old hands

She earned each mite they gave

Whether something to wear or basket of food

Each bit she carefully saved.

She’d pull your weeds in the midday sun

And these to her swine she’d take

She would break off corn ‘neath the autumn sun

Till her poor old back would ache.

She’d piece your quilts for a trifling sum

She’d gather your winter nuts

She’d sell you grapes plucked off the stem

She’d bring you herbs and roots.

Written by Ida May Schaffer