Simple Man

Typical morning...
Wake up about 10 a.m.
Shower up, brush up,
Throw on some clothes and
Get ready for the day

Time goes by quickly
And before I can notice
It's nearly 3
And the dog is aching for a walk
Grab the leash
Lock the door
And off I go

Typical stroll through the minimal green area
Planted in the heart of a grey metropoly
The dog goes about her business
And I stand and watch

Wind picks up
Clouds form about
I hurry back inside before the rain tumbles down

Elevator doors open up
And there he stands....

Not a rich woman with pounds of gold hanging from her neck
Not a working man with a tie and suitcase

But a man
A simple man
With a wooden cane, hand-made
An old leather hat, covering his balding head
A badly shaved beard, growing thick under his chest

Thick glasses, magnifying his dark, pale eyes

And he carried a bag filled with flowers
Which he said he planted in his backyeard
And every year he would visit his daughter
Hand them over and enjoy a day with her

The talk we had was brief
Since eleven floors go by quickly
But all he had to say
Was said much too well

And as the doors open, and he slowly made his way through
He looked back at me and said

"How beautiful would it be
If we lived by poetry..."

He was no messiah
Nor was he a king

He was a man...
A simple man...