Solitary.
Like a lone sprite the figure
appeared.
Sat astride statues of silent
large lions
and ate his stale bread.
A solitary image of down
and out living
he slept in an out-house
among crumble
of grandeur and drank
freedom\'s water
from an old well letting
nobody chain
him to respectability.
Alone that nameless spectre,
he of the back
bent and misshapen accepted
no charity
but lasted to out-live landed
rich gentry by
contentedly reclusive years.
Out of all those memorials
in granite abundance
to the indelibly titled elite
now crumbled
I shall ever remember him.