Relentlessly, rain fell from a leaden sky
Flooding the surrounds of window sills and entrance doors
He was not one to share his feelings
His contentment in a simple way
Was to busy himself with knife in hand
Slicing his plug tobacco and puffing his pipe
The ruins of the church long emptied of its congregation
Was where he made his bed
The light at present where he sat huddled
Lightening flashes
The pain of his loneliness eating away at his soul
Too late they found that next day
His cry for help had gone unheard.
Poetry from The ManShed (c) The author
05/10/19
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