With weary soul and heavy heart he stands
and reaches for his winter coat and hat,
he fumbles with his arthritic hands
to lock the door into his dingy flat.
He trudges down the lamp lit street alone
the rain unnoticed soaked his ancient frame,
his boot, so worn, flap on the paving stone
as if to underline his unearned shame.
But every now and then he looks around
and seems surprised to find there’s no-one there
then turns his rheumy eyes back to the ground
to sigh against a world in his despair.
His faithful hound is gone but every day
he walks her in his mind this lonely way.