Ruth

Diogenes she should have been,
Though her mother named her Ruth.
She, like that old Diogenes,
Preoccupied with truth.

She's looking for that honest man
With her shuffling, halting gait,
Just roaming through the urban streets
Her never ending fate.

She has no magic lantern to
Sort the truth out from the lies.
She only has her shopping cart,
And intuition's eyes.

And now that she is bent and grey,
So that none would take her hand,
Relentlessly she searches on,
Still looking for that man.

She's found the theives and criminals,
She's seen preditors and crooks,
She's found the rogues and scallywags,
There, hiding in the nooks.

She's searched in daylight, searched in night,
She's searched every vale and hill,
Yet never found her honest man,
She probably never will.