A CYPHER IN THE SNOW
Joe was a very quiet man who hardly spoke at all
Just in case he caused offence, never made a call,
For they may not want him them around you see
He was pallid and insipid and always wanted to be.
He had not the power to interest you in a chat,
A little to shy to talk about his friend, a cat
He rescued from an broken down old well.
It would sound innocuous that tale to tell.
He’d wander into the village, shop at the store,
Stop for an ice cream but bought no more,
It was hard to describe him, he never seemed there,
Just like a cypher in the snow, wind in the cold air.
He came into the store one day almost lifeless was he,
But no one noticed because he was always quiet you see,
The shopkeeper smiled and nodded, bought a thing or two,
But then outside the ice cream store his life was all though.
Which old cottage did he live in? Did he live all alone?
What was his last name, by Joe he was always been known.
He’d lived in the village all his life just a shadow passing by,
A lifetime not really lived, someone long dead before they die.
(Millicent) Ann Margetson 16 February 2005