Variety - Poem by David Gibbs
There's a man in the street,
Who wears nothing on his feet,
And he makes you feel a little bit uncertain,
He can't be very clever,
'cos no matter what the weather,
All he seems to wear is a curtain.
I've seen him down the town,
In his curtain type gown,
And most people seem to stop and stare,
There's a few that snarl and hiss,
And there's some that take the piss,
'cos he's also shaved off all his hair.
But he just shuffles by,
And maybe looks you in the eye,
Have you any coppers for his bowl?
And if you tell him 'no',
Then down the street he'll go,
And he'll still pray for your soul.
Though his religion's strange to me,
He'll believe eternally,
And who am I to say that he is wrong?
He never gets in trouble,
Never causes a cafuffle,
And sometimes he likes to chant a little song.
So if you see him, let him be,
Because it's just variety,
Everyone is different on this earth,
In a way, we're all alone,
A case of 'each to his own',
Different from the moment of our birth.
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