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 at all
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
