Cold as ice there he sat
Dreaming about this and that,
Of what could have been
If he’d stayed within the social scene
Each night his shadow lies under the lamp,
He is identified as the local tramp
The park is his home,
Nowhere else to roam
No hidden agenda
Or anyone to care for,
No personal appointments to keep
No people atall to meet
No-one to explain to when he isn’t there,
No sacrifice to bare
The owls watch over him at night
Under the lamp in the moonlight,
Where empty beer cans surround him
Next to the rubbish in the bin
The tramp that wants to be alone,
And to leave his identity unknown
By Gillian Sims
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September 4th, 2010 at 9:39 pm