by Honor Davis
There is a man at the road's end.
He'll tell you a story for your smile,
and a joke for your laugh.
He sits on a crate,
and shares food with the strays.
But never the birds.
There's a lad by the river's mouth,
always painting,
never talking,
sometimes pausing-
To wait for the wind
or to feed a pestering pigeon.
He gives paintings to strangers,
that sit on crates,
in exchange for a story.
He'll tell you a story for your smile,
and a joke for your laugh.
He sits on a crate,
and shares food with the strays.
But never the birds.
There's a lad by the river's mouth,
always painting,
never talking,
sometimes pausing-
To wait for the wind
or to feed a pestering pigeon.
He gives paintings to strangers,
that sit on crates,
in exchange for a story.
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