Anonymous

The mass had ended 
And everyone was laughing and talking. 
An old man stood amidst the bustle, 
Woebegone, clutching an umbrella. 
He silently watched the animated chatter 
Around him with a searching heart, 
So motionless that his wizened skin 
And faded suit almost blended 
Into the pillar that held him. 

His sad, dull eyes 
Searched the crowd once more. 
Not seeing a caring soul 
He ducked his head, 
His hands trembled on his umbrella, 
A tear-drop fell. 
A pathetic picture of misery. 

And so she saw him, as she walked by. 
Anger rose in her heart. 
Couldn’t they see? 
She went to him, grasped his hand, 
His head jerked up as she stroked his arm. 
The old man’s greyed eyes 
Glistened with tears, 
His lips quivered as they creaked into a smile. 
He gazed at her, saw the love in her heart, 
And his eyes told her his heart-rending tale. 
His hand shook as he raised her hand 
With great reverence to his lips, 
Kissed it, a young man again, 
And whispered; 
“Thank you…” 


Christina De Silva
09 February 2009