The Mystery Man
He sat outside a window pane,
On the street called Easterlane.
Invisible to some but not to all;
who cared or none the same.
Passersby with shadowed eyes
Would pass by him in vain
And go by him with cautious vibes,
Some judging while some refrain.
A lonely man with dirty hands
and clothes some say as claim;
Would Drink his wine in perfect time,
Before a judgement came.
Some prayed for him.
Some pity him.
Some cursed him just the same.
But he would smile and ignored the trials
and drink his drink again.
From spring to winter,
(All seasons all)
Around the evening two,
Would sit this man with a happy grin, Ignoring the verdict too.
On the news a story arose a scene
That drew the public view;
“Tech. inventor, billionaire and alcoholic too; Dies on Easterlane, around the evening two”
Outside my window (Easterlane)
The man was gone from view.
Tech. Inventor?
Billionaire?
Dam, who would have knew?
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