Crutches


Pick the eggs only when warm

as the mean Rooster patrols the pen

'Hello Henrietta, hello Chloey, hello Mable', I cackle to the hens

The ducks are being led out to the stream

I waddle and sing-along, calling for Tipsy in a harsh shrill

following the duckling's drill

I heard the news as night fell

Tipsy had died due to her immunization gone wrong

The dog that lay at my feet,

ever so sweet, just to keep me safe

I cannot cry for I am strong

I hold my knees, rocking gently to

the memories of her as I sit out in the dark

Tears flow unbeknown down my knees

through my rheumy eyes I see the light

in the purple-and-white flower bush

I feel not the crush of grief now

I slumber on the stairs that night

overcome with serenity, in the arms of the light

The raucous laughter of the children could be heard

my curiosity piqued for they may have a morsel of food there

I dare to venture to the sound of laughter getting louder

on the road, my humble playground, with pebbles and sticks as toys

and hours of joy drawing my dreams on a canvas of dirt

A man hopped on one leg

as he begs for what the children took

I look at them with anger only to see them flee

'You are beautiful child,' he says in glee

as I pick up his crutches, not a word escapes my lips

I maybe mute he thought for he talked incessantly

'What is beautiful?, I inquire and he laughs

We played together everyday since then

until he came no more

I am sure he sailed off to distant lands on adventure

until I learnt that the man in crutches

had lost much a few years before we met,

his wife and child had passed away

He took a walk to break his tedium and grief

and he had walked everyday since we met

even though it was brief, I still ruminate

over the man with crutches who was part of my beautiful childhood

that culminated in the rarest of friendships

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This Poems Story

a mysterious man appears only to be become my friend