A Waft of Smoke, Old Whisky Twist
A Waft of Smoke, Old Whisky Twist
There he sat on Amnesty Bench,
Stoking his pipe with a pen,
A waft of smoke, old whisky twist,
Recollections of way back when.
This gentleman of senior years,
Appeared thoughtful, quietly content.
Tell me your story, I’d love to know,
What kind of life had you spent.
Looking at him across the street,
He briefly motioned, but did not speak,
I heard words of wisdom and love,
A soft voice, a little frail, a little weak.
I’d seen him many times before,
Sat alone at his favourite station;
Perhaps he was just there for me,
To deliver a message of affirmation.
We did seem to have an acquaintance,
Even though I don’t know his name.
In a blink the old Gent was gone,
Curiously I never saw him again.
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