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The Porter

Slowly, wanly walks the old man,
The one beside the bus stand.

His knees bent, his shoulders low,
His eyes blinded by the sun’s glow.

His wrinkled skin tells his age,
And yet he walks on in the endless maze.

He carries a mountain on his back,
Struggling hard with that cruel sack.

He takes your burden; he carries your load,
And you walk merrily ahead on the road.

He sweats and bleeds but never complains,
Of all the labour and all the pains.

For he knows his family will not get to eat,
If he holds back and takes a seat.

When he reaches his home he has a happy feel,
For he has got money for the night’s meal.

That night he eats like a starving hound,
For he doesn’t know when the next meal will be found.

5 blog comments below

Something I wrote a few years ago...
codegeek on Thu Jun 13, 2013 2:56 pm
Great poem, well done Codegeek.
deanhills on Thu Jun 13, 2013 7:01 pm
Thank you. I'm glad you like it. I have a few more, but this is my favourite.
codegeek on Fri Jun 14, 2013 5:18 pm
You really told a complete story.
The way you told it, it was easy to visualize your tale.
Thank you for sharing your writings.
rmines on Thu Sep 12, 2013 12:54 am
Very well done. I kind of hand a image pop into my mind as the words unfolded and told their story. I never could understand how to write a poem, teachers always said I missed something or didn't understand what they were trying to get me to do. I liked this and I hope to see more.
TheGremlyn on Thu Sep 12, 2013 2:08 am

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