The Tramp Poem by Wayne Leon Learmond
The Tramp
Here he lies
On his side
On the ground
amongs the rubbish bins.
The people stare
with uncaring eyes
but he knows what they think.
He goes to town
to try and scrounge
some food -
or a bit of bread.
He has not eaten
for three days
He wishes he was dead.
At seventy- three
Society
Has forgotten this old man.
Who won a war
for British shores.
And a bullet
in his hand...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 9:57:27 AM # 1.0.0.1119
