Upon a walk, I took the time,
To sit beneath a tree.
I paused a moment, to light a smoke,
when small voice spoke to me.
"If it please you Sir, I must insist,
you do not light that smoke."
"My lungs, you see, are delicate,
and your fumes will make me choke."
I turned my head, to see who spoke,
and my breath, I felt it catch.
A spider, so beautiful, I could not help,
But pause the strike off match.
Then in my chest I began to feel
an indignation rise.
"But madam, it's in my nature,"
I found myself reply.
"I understand," she said, "I truly do,"
"But please be then aware."
"My nature is to want to bite,
and nest inside your hair."
"A quandary, to be sure”, I said.
“I don't know what to do."
“I really like to smoke, you see,
and to myself be true.”
She pondered shortly to herself,
and then became resolved.
And turning with a smile, she said,
"It think I have it solved."
"Have your smoke and I won't bite,
I'll merely show my teeth."
"And for your part, all that's required,
is that you just don't breathe."
No parents, no brothers, no sister, no thing,
He’s alone with no place and no home,
Walking along the path to nowhere,
Abandoned to wander and roam,
Longing for the things the other folks say,
To the words of love they each share,
To the sounds of belonging that eludes his whole life,
Leaving him full of despair,
So, he picks himself up, focuses his mind,
Straightens the shoes on his feet,
Then keeps on his walk from one town to the next,
Walking the line on the street,
And he survives on ideas from his heart every day,
He survives with a strike off the flint,
He survives with the poems he recites in his mind,
Leaving a magic footprint.