Trampin'

Trampin’, trampin’, trampin’, through the ceaseless winter cold, passing through perimeters, where he’s become too old, so the ‘sorry’ smile is common, in the office of each dome. Downcast we’d see the ‘old man’, on his way home; nearly home. Trampin’, trampin’, trampin’, past the factories of employ, because he is an older man, they only want a boy. Still the chase continued, what seemed a senseless roam. Downcast we’d see the ‘old man’, on his way home; nearly home. Trampin’, trampin’, trampin’, beneath the endless Summer sun, always a day too early, or the work has all been done. Names of hope are given; those names have plied the comb. Downcast we’d see the ‘old man’, on his way home; nearly home. Fingers fleece the columns, of the daily’s; ‘Sun’ and ‘Age’. Circles ring the opportune, on each ‘sit’ vacant page. Pulls on his coat; dons his hat, we wished him well and then, trampin’, trampin’, trampin’, the ‘old man’s’ gone again. Trampin’, trampin’, trampin’, hunger soon was running rife. Can’t afford to be in debt; each day attacked his life. The street light waited patiently, for his shadow to walk past. Shoulder weight destroyed him tho’. His trampin’ now is vast.