Thursday, 29 December 2011


He walks on, bowed
but unbroken, in black
His strong fingers grasping
with strength, his shopping
far removed from his youth.
Back hunched, face wizened
by the same sun miles apart
the trip the humiliation
and sorrow and joy
Escape and torture
as he left Home forever,
in body, not mind.
He is there now
walking the fields,
blue skies as now,
hot dry,
his younger legs running,
too fast for the others
wanting to be caught
legs now bowed, not broken
he walks on,
not to Home
rather to home
he walks on

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