I could Be She
fate of birth

Treading along the cobbled road,

Empty dreams, in hope to fill.
On bent back, her lot's bestowed.  
Happenstance delivers its driving chill. 
Standing, glowering, straight at me?
By right of birth, I stand above.
"Is it my fault, her poverty?"
I softly touch my kidskin glove.
"Am I better, by circumstance of birth?"
I question this rude and random draw.
I look at her and see no mirth,
As fate delivers the shortest straw.
But for my station at conception,
By random chanceI bear my lot.
I could be she, it's just perception -
Frowning sadly, deep in thought.