Shambles

 

It was early in the morning on a rain swept city road,

That I saw an old and older man hard burdened by his load,

His hair was tousled wired grey beneath a shapeless cap,

And all this world for all his life had held him like a trap.

 

Surprised at my reaction, the contempt that flooded in,

This thing of flesh, humanity, one human race to win,

Was I then so superior that I could stand aside,

And designate my own success as anchor for my pride.

 

I saw that he was sodden from his coat down to the bone,

A shambling world of emptiness, crushed, broken and alone,

But then I felt a sadness for this wretched wreck and me,

For there in his perception were the things I could not see.

 

How great would be his story and how wonderful his ways,

How spirited his journeys and how marvellous his days,

What wisdom circles in his mind with every onward tread,

What loss will compass all the world when he is cold and dead?

 

I watched him in the mirror as I slowly drove on by,

Another tramp, another day, another rain filled sky,

And shuddered as I realised we two were of an age,

A pair of fading actors on an ever changing stage.

 

Will what I leave be greater, will I sweeten bitter tears,

Be blessing to the memory that casts aside all fears,

With love my only epitaph in hope and heart and mind,

Or shamble into nothingness with not a glance behind?

 

 

SCOTT HALL ROAD LEEDS. 7.00am