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Pea Soup
In my usual morning pea soup mist, rubbing my sleepy eyes,
I saw what I thought was a stooped old man slowly walking by.
My dreamy world cleared a bit when I realised he was bleeding
and the stoop of his back made me stop to think
just why his life had come to this.
He wheeled a shopping trolley but he wasn't near a shop.
He seemed to walk with purpose but I knew that he was lost.
Nobody seemed to notice, nobody seemed to care.
Most of them still in a pea soup mist going about their affairs.
poem
by
Ruth Walters
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