An old tramp holds a tea cup in his hand clutching it as a drowning man would catch hold of a floating log. Hours have passed and its time to close, such moments recalled he picks up his life in a duffel bag and shuffles off to seek shelter from the biting cold a forgotten man once fought for freedom in a war now in the distant past.
Michael Cochrane ©
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem