And the hobo settled down,
He was remembering passing years
And wondering if he’d be found.
He’d searched in vain for a place with warmth
But no one would take him in.
He doubted his chances to last the night;
His clothing was much too thin.
As his body numbed he began to dream
And they were wonderful dreams.
There he was a simple old man
Who was fishing in mountain streams
And he had a home at the end of the day
With a fire that was burning so warm
He need not worry about the night
In the depth of a winter storm.
With a smile on his face as the snow came down
His life gently slipped away.
Nobody knew he was lying there
As snow fell throughout the day.
© 2012 Pam H. Murray
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