A refurbished carriage with golden lanterns, gold fringe and a polished top are pulled along stone streets by me. It’s a job like any other, daily work for daily bread, or in my case, oats and hay.
My legs are thin and bony, depicting my age, but I persevere through worn hooves and old-joint pain. My only hope is for the next customer to be light so they may enjoy a trot instead of plodding slowly.
The yoke is heavy and evidence of worn off hair and scars appear, but it is a living. If you see me waiting, a nice ripe carrot or lump of sugar would be a welcomed gift. I also willingly accept friendly pats from children. I feel a new passenger loading. My day continues.
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The Bag Lady 
An empathetic story.
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