WRAITHS

Last night I dreamt

I walked through mist

along the banks beside

the Thames – I heard

the tug boat’s plaintiff

hoot and saw the roads

were caked in soot, and

glass lay broken underfoot.

Yet no coins hit the beggars

bowls – the old men as their

stomachs growled, with

care worn looks upon

their face had tried to

bear their fall from grace -

still no one turned to them

to meet their anxious needs.

Until a figure came from fog

and raised his hand to bless

the flock. He said his name

was Gideon and bade the

beggars gather round and

so they did with worried frowns

upon their startled face. And

tales were told of by-gone days.

Then Gideon walked towards

the haze until his form was lost

to view. Just then a food van

came in sight – the smell of soup

brought great delight – and

stomachs grew  much fuller then

and men and women they were glad

the blessing they’d received came

at their greatest hour of need.

As if to celebrate this joy, a passing

tug boat gave a toot and crewmen

waved towards the footing of the

arch, where gifts appeared to

celebrate this transient joy.

◄ SKITTERING THROUGH TIME

Comments

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Don Matthews

Sat 25th Jan 2020 21:17

Interesting approach P.....

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