The bearded man sleeping on the park bench
An old man,
His walking stick leaning and his bag in between crossed arms.

He didn't have a smile though he was sleeping a rested sleep with his face unconstricted below the shadow of the tall city hall;
Hidden from the summer heat which came early,
Not hidden from looks,
Not caring at all.

The old man holding his half-grey beard with an expression as cool as the breeze.