Poetry Blog by Hannah Collins
He would be there every morning
Sitting under the railway bridge
Alone on the paving stones
Young, small, dark hair, very slight,
Faded ragged clothes . . .
Got any change luv . . . ?
Every day the same chorus, the same mantra.
Always on my way to work,
Passing him by.
There came a time when I gathered coins, silver, copper,
Keeping it in my pocket, just for him.
Wednesday 12th February 2020 8:00 pm