HE

He used to stand there with his arms straight

lonely, homeless, cold and upset.

Looking all around him he could see

only hatred, denial and misery.

Yet he stood there day after day,

Was his work was to look at us and pray?

And he had a calm about himself,

which was scary, or may be it was just pretence.

Standing there he caught everyone’s glimpse.

As if he was a creature, someone against the nature.

He stood there in the rain,

He stood there in pain.

It seemed looking at us was his duty

and blinking might upset his deity.

But one day he was mysteriously gone

And everything there felt so wrong.

His absence was clear, loud and profound.

What had happened to him?

Was he six feet under the ground?

Or did he fly home to his queen

ashamed to tell her what he had seen?