Sometimes you’ll find him sheltering
In the darkness of the night,
Or huddled in closed doorways
In the early morning light.
A plastic bag beside him
His valuables safely stowed.
A can of beer in his hand
Another one for the road.
December now; it’s cold as hell
The winter’s here to stay,
He wouldn’t change the years he’s had
Or have it any other way.
For he walks through the seasons,
Doesn’t have a place called home.
No stone walls surround him.
Completely free to roam.
He walks a bit slower now,
And maybe not quite so far.
But give him an open road,
And the light of a shining star.
His mind is full of memories
Of people who now are gone.
He keeps one old worn photo
Which he sometimes smiles upon.
He keeps it in his pocket
Next to his heart;
For whatever happens to him
They will never be apart.
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