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HYDE PARK
Passers by frown grave faces
No sympathy from me
He is a prisoner of war
Who shall never be free
But could they ever know
That he smoked Tally-Ho?
Curled up like a kitten
Toes black and frost bitten
His memories of blood
When his mates had to die
He hides in a Port bottle
With hot tears he must cry
Sunlight touches his greasy grey hair
Passers by don't feel the loneliness there
Spikey grey stubble, whiskers on chin
Park pigeons sense pain
They coo from within
Clutching a brown paper bag
With a two fingered claw
A subtle reminder
Of the second world war
That he fought so very bravely in
Now he fights for existence
In the public garbage bin
He shall remain alone in spirit
From a world he left behind
He'll hang another ageing portrait
In the art gallery of your mind ... |
