Not Lying There, But Dying Poem by Gert Strydom

Nobody saw him, the dead man
but still he was there
lying in the sun in the park
as he did the day before.

Poor guy, homeless, always was alone
a weathered man, some would call him a hobo
weathering the sun, sometimes the rain,
the winter chill,
having nothing to eat
and suddenly he was dead
and thought by everyone to be lying in the sun

and the last part of his life
he was weathering the elements
caught a nasty cough,
was days without food
and wasn’t lying there but dying.

[References: This poem was inspired by a article in the local newspaper (The Springs Advertiser) with the title: Left to die. Not Waving But Drowning by Stevie Smith.]