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