Charlie Chaplin, The Man With The Walking Stick Poem by Mario, Lucien, Rene Odekerken

A small man in a bowler hat,
tilting forward like time itself,
moving, always moving,
with shoes too large for his quiet steps.

His cane is more than wood-
it is balance, rebellion, a joke in motion.
It lifts, twirls, taps,
dances in his gloved hands like a
thought unspoken.

A face drawn in shadows and light,
eyes speaking where words do not belong.
He falls, he rises,
his body bending like laughter held between breaths.

The world stumbles,
and he catches it in his silent frame,
spinning sorrow into something soft,
something that lingers,
like a man with a walking stick,
always just beyond the last step.