You went about your something way.
You lit your fire like clockwork every night,
and scattered your spot with your litter,
As though it was your dirty washing, your cushions, your shoes.
...
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This made me feel angst too, In my poem 'a friend' I met such a person living on the rocks, eating mussels, quietly spoken, willing to share his find....when I went back, eager to see him again, he had gone - I still look - winter is here....Thanks for writing about these people, they are one of us- Cindy
Great poem, I've often seen these sights and heard peoples remarks on them. Yet they didn't know anything of the life and experiences of the person they spoke of. Great write,