Too little, too late,
or, how to retire on beans,
or, work her to death;
leave nothing to fate
in this world, since money talks;
the old woman cleans,
though, beneath her breath,
little prayers, does she recite,
even though, she walks
through lives, without blame,
other's houses; beauty fades,
on her own, the shame
lines her face; she trades
advice on money, despite
the fact, she has none;
except for her son.
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