A ticking clock.  Footsteps.  Wind.  Applause.
               Homeless:  after midnight.  Sheltered in this cold
               church  doorway.  I can hear a clock
               ticking  in  its tower.
               Rustling  leaves, tossed  along  wet pavement
                in a callous wind
                sound  like approaching footsteps.
                In  famished  sleep  I dream  of  former  glory.
                Me.  A celebrity. Yeah!  – big time.
                All I  have  now are  fading echoes
                of  cheering crowds. Some comfort.
                The applause dies.  I awake: alone with
                 sounds.  A  clock ticking.  Leaf  blown  footsteps.
                 A  cheerless wind.  
                                                                            
                  TOBIAS