Nothing Like White Rose's Hiding In Briars Poem by Mark Heathcote

Hiding behind soiled curtains, unknown
some people behave like spiders-
living reclusive lives alone
never time for any outsiders
aloof as fawns and leprechauns.
Nothing -like white roses hiding in briars.

Often, there's an underlining thorn.
Where dementia and mental health issues
went on bleeding, lovelorn long ignored.
I remember a strange neighbour.
Who wore his mother's old clothes?  
Ivy clad all his windows and doors.

But for all my grown-up neighbours 
Seeing him dishevelled became the norm,
doing their- daily chores.
So, intrinsically, as a child, I stayed away.
But I watched him, this poor, dishevelled man.
Oh, how abnormal and subnormal is he?
What must he have suffered by staying that way?  

Never time for any outsiders.
Aloof as fawns and leprechauns
Nothing -like white roses hiding in briars
He'd search bins, black, oily-skinned
I thought, what could be ungodlier?
I thought, what a survivor, what a warrior!

My heartfelt it-could-break 
As I stared at him with my own,  
two eyes filled with helpless self-pride.
I never knew his name.
It-was-never spoken
but I got to know some part of my shame.

I guess he died when I saw all that old ivy-
was slung aside.
His doors and windows, visible, opened to the skies.
He'd never time for any outsiders.
Aloof as fawns, leprechauns, and spiders
nothing -like white roses hiding in briars.