The weathered face
Each line a road
That always leads
Backwards home.
The coins in hat
With biting cold
In his fifty fourth year
He looks so old.
Music and dance
Those tired eyes
Lost of sparkle
Gone the smile.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: October 2nd, 2023 03:47
- Comment from author about the poem: Many years ago I watched a busker from a bus window waiting for the traffic to move on
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 7
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15
Offline)
Comments5
You just brought him so much dignity. The busker loved this beautiful.
Many thanks for those kind words
The Personality injected in this piece makes it feel alive and I almost can hear the busker.
thank you I always remember the scene and thought get it on site
An enjoyable, respectful dedication to this busker. Nicely penned!
thank you much appreciated
Could have been the homeless guy with the softest smile.
All salt of the earth.
my sentiments also thanking you
I recognise your Busker
he visits in my mirror..
such is life.
a wonderfully tender tone to your wording
thanks for sharing, dear poet
as always you are too kind, many thanks
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