Saw a man, he walked alone, talking to himself in a very low tone
I stopped him on the quiet road, asked him about his health, his load.
He said he was a loner, nowhere to rest his head; aint no one care about him.
He takes care of himself.
We sat down on a wall, it was cold but we just talked
Telling me his life story, how as a boy his mother walked
Then he watched his father take to drink, and was never
Around. . . . .
That’s how he became a loner, walking the streets, from town to town.
He said he sang in ale houses, his voice was velvet smooth
He worked on many cruise ships, but work dried up there too
He romanced many women, but chose to stay with none
So back to the streets when his money ran out, alone in the world he roamed.
We talked about the future and what he hoped to achieve
He was all of sixty - six years old, though he looked eighty
Knowing of his family history, deep down I empathised
Though he stressed he was a loner, I saw “help me”, in his
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