1

I could see him in the doorway
looking tired clothing frayed,
I really did feel sorry for him
would probably soon be in his grave.

“Here” in voice so gruff he summoned me
to his dingy doorway home,
lying on a cardboard bed
he said “Can ya spare a pound”.

I sat down on the step beside him
and asked him “Whats your name”,
and with a twinkle in his eye
he said “I am Donald James kilbain”.

I asked him how a man so “dignified”
ended up this way,
he said “I lost me wife and children
then I lost me job and so here I am today”.

He reached into his pocket
and removed a ***** piece of rag,
slowly he unfolded it and said
“this is a photo of me Mum and Dad”.

Then he showed the other one
saying “this is....was! me wife and kids,
they all died in a fire
you see it broke me and put me on the skids”.

He then returned the pictures,
so carefully he folded up the rag
kissed it twice and told me
he would give his right arm for a ***.

As I opened up my wallet
he leant across and said “who’s that”,
I told him it’s my family
he said “lucky man, mine were just like that”.

We sat there for a moment
quiet lost in thought,
and then he said “forget the pound,
come again tomorrow, we can have another talk”.

2

Well time went by, the weeks they passed
he was always on my mind,
I´d think about his life alone
and how life can be unkind.

So I took time out to visit him
armed with the thickest fleece,
the warmest coat and of course...
a few packs of his favourite cigs.

As I approached his doorway
my heart sank to the floor,
no sign of Donald James Kilbane...
Did he not live here anymore ?

I asked around the neighbourhood
and every one I met,
but no one seemed to want to know
or were even bothered where he went.

Time went by, the weeks they passed
I was down and feeling low,
but I would not stop in my quest
I´d find the guy somehow.

His words they echoed in my mind
as the empty streets I walked, his gruff
old voice kept telling me, “Come again
tomorrow, we can have another talk”.

Time went by and more weeks passed,
and I arrived back at my start,
I sat me down upon his step
my hopes now... were fading fast.

I sat there quiet lost in thought
upon the hard cold ground,
then a voice so gruff called to me
“Hey buddy, can ya spare a pound”

I stayed face down and to myself
I smiled the biggest smile,
Donald sat down next to me and said
“Hey friend, we´ve come a fair few miles”

3

Well time went by, the years they passed
and we became the best of friends,
the clothes I gave him kept him warm
and Donald James was on the mend.

He told me of his family
how they meant the world to him,
and how he missed the Christmas´s
and all the love that they would bring.

Ten and seven when they died
his daughter and his son,
his wife died trying to save them
when fire destroyed their house of fun.

He spoke about the loneliness
and the never ending pain,
he told me things from deep within
how he nearly went insane.

So in his mind he closed the doors
and simply walked away,
the bitter cold that stung his face
somehow kept the pain at bay.

Twenty years he´d lived the streets
and each long year alone,
the freezing winters were the worst
cold and soaked through to the bone.

There was only so much I could do
to help this man get by,
he was so set in his ways you see
he would´nt even let me try.

There would be no talk of doctors
no talk of getting off the streets,
no sleeping on a matressed bed
or the feel of freshly laundered sheets.

But I worried so, his cough was worse
his breathing got so shallow,
the years outside had took their toll
his frail old body out of ammo.

4

I could see him in the doorway
as I approached him that next day,
lying motionless and quiet...
in the cold of night he´d passed away.

It hit me hard I´d lost a friend
one Donald James Kilbain,
who really did deserve a better life
a life without the hurt and pain.

I often think about him
and that twinkle in his eye,
and what his life could have been
if his loved ones had´nt died.

We had him buried with his family
and now he´s resting safe and sound,
but before they closed his coffin
in his right hand....I placed a pound.

Your eyes give it away,what saddens you,
what has stolen that sparkle from your face
that zest for life, your beauty that is true,
it saddens me, where is your charm your grace.
You´re so forlorn unlike the one I know,
could it be a lover that you have lost,
has your heart been broken by one so low,
your future now cold as the winters frost.
Or could it be you’re in too deep want out
of a love that is going nowhere fast,
a lover that you want to lose no doubt,
have you found another you think will last.
Are you playing a lovers game of lies
was that a glint I saw... in those wide eyes.

In the warm spring sunshine looking out
over the beauty that is the Mediterranean
and with a perfect view to the Balcon
through freshly trimmed and vibrant palms
we were talking my friend and I
about the use of words and of the use of rhyme.
I could see as he spoke the signs of their pain
and the enormity of their loss, a loss that I
thankfully can not comprehend.
Within those six verses of rhyme
there is no respite, only the marking of time
and their memories of Mel, in the warm spring sunshine.

We spoke of things we cherished
and told tales of deeds we’d done,
sat round a fire on the beach
we sang and watched the dying sun.

We talked of singers and their songs
discussed the meaning of their worth,
we questioned all the wrongs in life
we were at peace with mother earth.

We spoke of love of loss and greed
and of the war in Vietnam,
we sang the flower power songs
and how we hated uncle Sam.

We spoke of things we cherished
we talked of singers and their songs
we spoke of love, of loss and greed,
but we could never right the wrongs.

He played in the corn fields
with friends in the summer,
fished in the lake
and climbed every tree,
he helped with the harvest
as did his young friends
and he helped with the lambing
in those warm days of spring;
Such were his memories
of youth and of fun,
sun through the tree tops
warm on his face,
haunting new visions
have now taken their place
since he took the Kings shilling
and sailed off to France.

He saw lifeless black eyes
glazed in ashen white faces,
snow that was blood stained
and limbs that were dripping,
he shed stinging tears
for those no longer living
and he searched for the answers
that were never forth coming;
He heard screams from the dying
their lungs gas corrupted,
murmurs and mumblings
under clouds of confusion,
he heard rats in a frenzy
amid men decomposing  
and he searched for the reasons
that no one could give him.

He now bathes in warm sunshine
from a seat in the garden,
blanket hangs loose
where his legs used to be,
he knows not the faces
knows not their names,
he exists in the present
his mind knows not the past;
Not one single visitor
in all of these years,
to the staff he is Harry
the old soldier,the Dear,
they wash him, they shave him
and launder his clothes,
wheel him out in the sunshine
he loves watching the birds.

Red breasted Robin on
snow covered fence,
ducks landing and skidding
on the now frozen lake,
icicles hanging from the
branches of trees,
the beauty of winter
never failing to please.

Kids making a snowman
hands painfully cold,
white breath their laughter
as snowballs they roll,
sledging down hillsides
in snow up to their knees,
the beauty of winter,
never failing to please.

Car on the driveway
refusing to go
the windscreen is covered with
three inches of snow,
an hour late already
I´m now starting to sneeze,
the beauty of winter
never failing to please.

Tucked up in bed
nose bright red and sore
used three boxes of tissues
and still I need more,
temperature rising
coughing and sneezing,
the beauty of winter
so ****** pleasing!