The Disappearance of the old Tapdancer from Oxford City Centre

Forever young
he seemed to stay
but old he was nearly a century.
With his top hat,
his bow-tie-flair

he made the tourists
stop and stare.
Strange faces he would pull and pause
"that's gurding grateful for applause
and cash for many
a good cause.

His music
like prismatic glass
took the light and all ranges
through the moods that flew past
giving people a glimpse of now
long forgotten
colours.

His barrel-organ
in full swing
he hummed to it in his highland fling.
In later years to the tune of a radio
he still was seen hopping to and fro,
the tall thin man
of Scottish origin.

But one cold day
he disappeared
nobody knew and dead he was feared,
last seen in slippers near the station,
without hesitation
heading for London.

Police were called.
They checked and searched
no stone left upturned by their frantic urge
to trace him.
Chances were dim.

After eight days
he was back in town,
still walking in slippers, all on his own.
He did not know what the fuss was about
they all came out
to greet him.

His next door neighbour
was full of ardour.
Mrs Pottering asked where he stayed
"I just fancies a trip,
and I slept near a tip
and the banks of the river Thames.

Then I saw many a churches,
not aware of your searches,
left my top hat with a man who was drunk,
an Irish punk.

I never was scared
feel fit and well-aired.
His wrinkles smoothed out in a smile
for a while.

"A long time ago
I lived in Soho
I was once a living legend in London
before I moved on.

His neighbour was glad
looked at the old lad
did not know if to hug or to slap him.

All were very pleased
that he was not deceased
He was famished for cheese and a sandwich

He devoured lots of bread
went to sleep in his bed
where he slept, warm and well-fed,
until next morning
quite late.