Day and Night

He sailed in from who knows.
One cold September morning.
Looking for work and
a place to call home.
On a wing and a prayer,
with a great deal of anguish
he managed to find,
a bed for the night.
That was Monday last week,
now it’s Tuesday in the following.
And there’s still no occupation,
for this dog-eyed soul.
But there’s hope in his heart
and a jangle in his pocket –
enough for something
to get him through the day.
Then later if he’s lucky
there’ll be a bed for the night
down in Finsbury Park.
Beneath the rattling bridge.
Where a broken-down busker
plays a plastic clarinet
and shares out his change
with those from down below.
That generous old hombre
says he is blessed to have hands
that can play through the night
and then on through the day.


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