The Poet and The Tramp

The Poet and The Tramp

Where the flowers and the birds

 give a sense of peace

 and the warm spring wind

 whispers to the trees.

On a sunlit bench

 in a sun filled park

 is where this gentleman

 tramp met me.

His horny hands his tattered coat

 his ragged pants, scarf at throat

 his worn out boots, with turned up toes

 could not detract from the wonderful glow

 that poured from a face marked with much woe

Yet a face with a face with a friendly smile.

Where I sat by myself in my peaceful world.

He sat himself without a word,

 gave a thankful sigh - nodded his head

 loosed knotted shoestring of worn out thread

 while he smiled at the scene and fluttering bird.

After a long drawn silence,

 he turned his head

 graying hair with tints of red

 gold-gray moustache

 and silvery beard

 the sparkling sun wreathed round his head.

Looking about with a smile

 he said to me,

 what wonderful feeling, it is to be free

 to be able in peace - to sit back and look on,

 at the frantic world and the scurrying throng,

 to withdraw while able  no longer to face

 a crazy world, and its crazy rat race.

With a faraway look in his wise old eyes

 he spoke of other land and foreign skies

 of Eton and Harrow and Hitler’s war

 the early excitement, the battle’s roar.

He spoke of the hell, of leading his men

 of many who never came back again.

For a while he gave a pause

 averted his face

I could see the cause,

were the tears I could trace

as they flowed into his beard.

On evil night had wrecked his life

 bombs on Coventry had killed his wife

 two sons, his home - all were gone

leaving him shattered - completely alone.

For a year or more he had gone beserk

 picked up the pieces returned to work

 returned to life, grew rich and strong

 worked 16 hours -  all week long.

Yet could not with labour, effort or strain

riches or luxury erase the pain

or the shadows of the awful night.

At last he decided to - his life revamp

 gave up all his possessions his fair - weather friends

 and took to the road as a tramp.

Commuting with nature

 knowing folk at their worst

 frustration - deprivation

 hunger and thirst

 many moon did he travel

 up and down many lands

‘Til finally he burned out his hatred of Man.

---a passing bird hovered ---hearing nature’s call

 splattered the tramp with it's aerial fall,

 undaunted his laughter made the echoes ring

 as he left me, he called out ---

“For the rich -  they Sing”

by Hillie Feldman  13th April 2000
Published in The Grapevine