What has happened to make him thus.

Turn his back on those of us

Who seek to help, compensate.

Change his life, set him straight.


Dusk's dark night, from early dawn

He just keeps walking, walking on.

Walks the damp and dreer forlorn.

His life, his clothes, rag'd and torn.


Shuffles down the snow peaked street

Thin plastic bags won't warm his feet.

He's always here, though never there,

He wanders on and goes nowhere.


Church bells now for him have tolled.

His life has gone, his story's old

Yet, still it should be told.

What need was his to live a tramp

When he had thousands in the bank?

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This was not an old man, died in his fifties. He really was the classic 'tramp' tore my heart to shreds whenever I saw him. He never asked for anything. After he died It was found he was quite wealthy. I always wondered what had happened to make him turn his back so completely on life.

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deepinyourdreams's picture

I like the "Old Man"

I like the "Old Man" story...no reasonTongue Out


sweetwater's picture

Thank you, I often think of

Thank you, I often think of him. Sue.