Christmas lights in puddles, busy streets,

bright lit shop windows, nodding gnomes.

Thoughts of home and early happy years –

spoilt by the gnawing grind of brittle time,

argument, alcohol and senseless hurt.

Call through the chilly ether all you want,

I cannot hear, my ears are dead to you.

For even with nothing I now have more.

Alone on these streets I have a friend

who understand my fears and loneliness.

One who needs me shows his love

and walks with no complaint,

as on the road of life we make our way,

foot steps talking to the side walk.

 

 

David Garlick, Victoria, December, 1995