The Tramp
Shuffling, shuffling, the tramp shuffles.
One shoe too big, one shoe too tight.
Shuffling, shuffling, from dawn until night.
Pausing at bins, fingerless gloves.
Searching for scraps with a hungry eye.
A few cold chips, a half-eaten pie.
City gents pass, avoiding a glance.
Afraid they might see,
A glimpse of things of what could be..
They told him to buy, to buy a house.
To buy some shares, riches to seek,
to tread on the scum walking the streets.
He lost his job, the shares went bang.
His wife left him for a richer man.
He had no family to lend a helping hand.
So he shuffles, wearing his home
close to his body just to keep warm,
shuffling the streets, night until dawn.
Copyright © Ken Duddle | Year Posted 2012
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