Puis The Street Nuisance...!
Pius the street nuisance, old and grey,
Every heartbeat he seemed to pray,
In his tattered coat, unbuttoned shirt,
Seemed a shattered lot, a stoned heart,
With a feebling walking stick, a sore bak,
Age made him look sick, said young Mark......
Pius deep in his eyes, was a tree of history,
All life eventually dies, that was his story,
Pius the old shoemaker, from the crowd,
Pius the undertaker, others thought thought aloud,
No one seemed to know his birthplace,
But all London knew his sunken face.....
House of the Rising sun, was his best tune,
That old son of a gun, a branch due to prune,
Hanging at the edge of life, as a yellow leaf,
Mystery was his only wife, who lives in grief,
But if walls could talk, tell the unheard story,
Of Pius' weird walk, of his unsung glory.....
When the foundation of London was being laid,
Before her urbanization Pius was being paid,
With all his youth strength he gave it his best,
Every hammer blow, he worked with no rest,
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poem by Timothy Akankwasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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