Poor Old Man
The old man lay down in the alley,
With the bottle, his now only friend,
Each night brought peace and some comfort,
Another long day would soon end.
The buildings around gave him shelter,
The night wind could cut like a knife,
The last of the drink that he cradled,
Would bring sleep and sweet dreams of his wife.
Unjustly life's hardships had claimed her,
He never could quite understand,
How he hadn't been able to save her,
When he'd held on so tight to her hand.
So he settled himself in the shadows,
And wished her goodnight in his prayers,
For in dreamland he quickly could find her,
At the top of the heaven bound stairs.
He smiled as the cold came to take him,
With no fear he welcomed its bite,
The pain of his loneliness left him,
He slept warm in her arms from that night.
by Andrew Tovey