Once, far away, upon a stony roof
Above the low and dirty common ground,
A vagabond sits there, high and aloof
From petty worries, up on his tall mound.
His eyes are grey, his stance is lean and sound,
His grey-haired dog sits calmly at his side,
Ten years ago was rescued from the pound,
Ten thousand miles from where they now reside.
Across the surface life he looks with pride.
His feet have crossed where many dare not go
Down paths neglected by the common tide,
Through fog and dreary rain, and crystal snow.
But down his weathered cheek drop lonely tears:
He has not spoken to a man for years.
Fri Apr 03, 2009 8:14 am