Thursday, October 30, 2014

This man who looks at me

He grows a beard for warmth and ease
And wears warm clothes against the breeze
His hat is green; his eyes are blue
This man who looks at me.

The brown upon his face is soot
and dirt and grime from under foot
No speck upon his face is new
This man who looks at me.

We wonder where he's been but then
we cross the street away from him
because he looks somewhat awry
this man who looks at me.

We look and judge and shake our heads
and wonder where he lays his bed,
and how he keeps his eyes so dry
this man who looks at me.

Perhaps he finds he likes it here
with people all around that share
the same free reign from night to day
this man who looks at me.

Unless I ask I'll never know
which way his dreams and whims do blow,
what words he'd use, what things he'd say
this man who looks at me.


Sabrina and Julie also wrote.

1 comment:

  1. I like the repetition. And how the man causes her to reflect, but doesn't push her to action. Yet.

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