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She used to create her own newsletters
And give them out on the side of the road.
These words were loved and nurtured.
At first people took them, thanked her,
And without looking directly at her,
Smiled at the girl who willed change
To smash into her like a meteor.
They folded them neatly once or twice,
Put them in their pockets for later.
After a while nobody bothered to pretend
That they would read them.
They would ignore her, or worse,
Take one and screw it up -
Drop the rough white moon at her feet
Until she was standing like Saturn between them all.
Nobody remembered her face,
She was a mask clad wraith
Who they wished they had read.