The Dying Breed

He sits by the roadside and fills up his shoes
with waterproof plastic and yesterdays news.
A coat tied with string and a hat of Swiss cheese
and a permanent tremble; no fault of the breeze.

His past long forgotten, his future in doubt,
unreadable feelings, shored up with life’s grout.
Asking for nothing, accepting all alms
he turns from all preachers and their hollow psalms

He watches the way that they spy him and frown;
their guilt, fear and pity all tarnish their crown.
What invades the sight, lays siege to the mind
and hungers the conscience; save those who are blind.