Mr. McGee

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
One of my few rhyming, story based poems.

Submitted: May 09, 2007

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Submitted: May 09, 2007

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They say he's lonely, as you could seeOr presume by his name, Sad Old Man McGeeThey bother his brothers with threats or a pleaTo find more about Sad Mr McGee. He walks along edges of cliffs that he claimsThe kids sometimes see him amidst their young gamesHe spares not a glance to the frolicking crowd,But a whisper of praise to a passing grey cloud. He lives by a circus, found near the seaMost say its abandoned, he thinks its freeHe walks everyday, on the cusp of a cliffWith a limp in his stride, perhaps maybe stiff. Of course there are rumors, and moreso are liesTold of this mystery, seen through few eyesYet spoken by many, for less or for moreBut never once has he strayed down to the shore. He keeps to himself, day after dayStrolling the circus, and looking awayHe never gets cold, or might always beThe weather is barren, in this place by the sea. I bet he's looking, trying to findA something to give him his peace of mindI believe he is haunted by angels of blackThey've set him upon this sad endless track. So day after day, year after yearSad Old Man McGee has made his wish clearTo not be disturbed by a whim or a careBut simply to walk, nor should he know where. Here stops our tale of a wish to be freeAn ending forgotten to him and to meI’ll spare a short moment, to think of McGeeWho lives near a circus, right by the sea.


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