Under the colour of the moon
As the winter wind blew chill
He made himself “comfortable”
In an open doorway.
Loneliness, its fragrance “nil”
Rucksack his travellers pillow –
His security blanket.
His secret prayer may be
“Tomorrow guide me on my way”
Once the cock has crowed
Announcing the coming of a new day
He rises, treading his way to where –
Not even he knew?
As the setting sun grows weaker
His grieving heart beats slower, slower
The taste of bitterness in the mouth
A constant cloud on his horizon.
“A day in the life”
Poetry from The Man Shed
04/12/19
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