As a walk along the street
And ponder who I may meet
I place my hands in my pockets
And find again those things that seem to fit
There is handkerchief that my mother
Pressed on me to keep me out of bother
And the boiled lollies for my diabetes
That I need in emergency feedings
With my wallet in my back pocket
My identity as the world needs it
So I carry what I need in those folds of fabric
Scant and perhaps the only things that fit.
© Paul Warren Poetry
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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