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I
wrote this after seeing a tramp who was being followed along a Liverpool
street by children
THE
TRAMP
People see him wandering by
Shuffling gait, and sad of eye
His glance is not for earth nor sky
And children shout ‘the tramp’
He travels on, no place to go
The seasons change, sun rain and snow
His faltering steps not fast not slow
And the children shout ‘the tramp’
What was he once, this sad old gent
A lord! A squire! A cobbler bent
He whispers ‘freedoms heaven sent’
And the children shout ‘ the tramp’
He has no work, no toil, no strife
He has not kith nor kin, nor wife
To him, the thing that is his life
When the children shout ‘the tramp’
Lilian
Glanister
Ìý
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