by SusanBailey

Created on: November 05, 2008

Two Umbrellas

From a box,

clutched in bare blue hands,

two umbrellas point,

as though to guide

his shuffling feet.

Through icy wind he tramps,

ignoring wide berths

of shoppers, bundled warm,

as they hurry home

to burning fires.

They see nothing

but worn clothes and dirt,

not within his soul.

Dodging two umbrellas

they rush with bags of gifts.

Christmas fills their minds,

indulgence time is near.

They want colour and sparkle,

no time for shades of grey.

They look the other way.

He walks slowly. Time is his.

There is no hurry in his aimless life.

He observes,

but is unobserved

by those

who's cares are few.

His Christmas;

two candy-striped umbrellas,

a treasured find.

His gift of shelter

from a skip.

(Note: An English skip is similar to an American waste dumpster)

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