Smelly Bill Poem by Phil Soar

He lives in the woodland glade and smells of peat
He smokes a lot and has got filthy feet
He lives on anything that he can kill
He's a tramp and they call him Smelly Bill

When he wakes he bathes in streams so crystal clear
He has a strange protrusion from his ear
It looks quite like a mushroom or some fungi
He wears a patch across his damaged eye

Bitten by the bug of natures call
He has a home built close to an old brick wall
And he sleeps the night wrapped in a pile of leaves
And has a chesty cough whenever he breathes

Yet no-one visits him, or knows he's there
He loves the isolation and cold air
I guess that when his time is up he'll be
Returning to the ground that sets him free