I didn't talk
when I walked for nine months,
park benches for beds,
speaking French with others,
brothers they were,
of a kind,
like minded
Reclining on leaves,
old sofas in streets,
meeting and greeting
kerbstones for seating
Old ladies giving me food
no shoes,
singing old songs
choosing paths unworn
welcomed by poor folk
Giving all that they own
in return for a burn
or a craft that they honed
on mountainsides
libre esche on cold fresh mornings
Adorning
the morning sun with love
No comments:
Post a Comment