there's a man
walking the streets
holding an umbrella frame
(no umbrella)
and wearing a rumpled, tan overcoat
he wears galoshes
(didn't think people still did)
a battered cowboy hat
and nothing else

he whistles a tune that's not familiar
and smiles a toothless smile

his whiskers are coarse
his hair unwashed
and dirt cakes every crease on his body

but he smiles
a toothless smile
and whistles a tune that's not familiar

everything he owns
is carried in a black hefty
slung over his shoulder
he sleeps by the river at night
and relishes in the sunshine by day
he places an old tin top from a thermos
(which has long ago disappeared)
by his side
while he snoozes
and doesn't ask for a thing
but if he wakes
and sees his cup brimming with coins...

he smiles
a toothless smile
and whistles a tune that's not familiar

he feels his days are full
he is grateful for every minute
the river is his lullaby at night
the sun his companion by day
and when he thinks of how fortunate he is...

he smiles
his toothless smile
and whistles a tune that's not familiar.