Vagrant

VAGRANT

Slowly he sits to rest his weary bones that have walked the
streets,
His only furniture, are the council seats.
His home is probably some rundown building left to rot,
But it's home to him, a place that others have forgot.

Many a mile has passed throughout his long enduring years,
And no doubt his eyes have been filled many times with tears.
The summer brings him the comfort and gives back his strength,
Bask in the noonday sun, and enjoying the new day's length.

He sits there quietly watching people go by, to do their daily
task
Some stop to hand him money or food, hoping it will last.
Why did he turn away from life that most of us know?
Is there a family somewhere still waiting for him to show?

He must lead a hard life to survive through every day,
But that's what he's chosen, responsibilities he's turned away.
Where will it all end, what will happen to him?
He is happy with life, waiting to see what the day will bring.

He must get up, and tramp the streets again within his range,
People say, throughout the years he has aged and changed.
His only worry is hoping that someone hands him a meal,
And that he is in good health and his life stays on an even keel.

Roy Coppin