2 floors up,
above the swirling littered dreams,
I watched – eyes red.
He came – shuffling, head down,
gnarled bony hands hung loose,
A ravaged fedora perched,
on bleached white straw.
I stepped outside myself and stared,
feeling his age and pain.
And for a moment forgot my own,
began to smile,
realizing as he passed,
he was whistling…


(New Dawn Master Poet Award Winner – 1998)

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