Road

In our road
we have nine
old timers
they each day
walk out to
fetch their
bread or cake
or buy
black bin liners.
Some are happy,
some not so,
some have friends,
holidays and places
to go.
Others are jolly and
cut grass and
weed their garden.
Some read papers and books
and know the latest on
Osama Bin Laden.
There're not all the
same, no way,
Each has things to do,
or not to do, each day.
They are not waiting around
for our blessing,
but go about their lives,
their loves,
no messing.