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Array
(
[sid] => 160706
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Jimmy
[time] => 2010-06-21 04:34:43
[hometext] => this is about an old countryman i knew many years ago while working in border country. He was everything I expected a man of the wilds to be.
[bodytext] => He dressed in the clothes of a tramp Spent his days on the fells With only the animals And lonliness for company. He sang with the wind And cried with the rain, Danced with the full moon Over the high tops. He needed no clock To tell of the changing landscape of time, Just his face that, weathered By long days on the fells And longer nights by the fires bright light, Told of tomorrow. Supressed all memories That for him held no meaning. He cooked mutton wrapped in hay On an old Aga that atop stood a blackened kettle That trembled and whistled The tune of a solitary life. He drank hot tea from the chipped spout Of an ageing pot, Slurped and dribbled and wiped his mouth With the back of a leathery hand. He measured his days in sunlight And his nights by the stars That gathered overhead While he stumbled from dream to dream Beneath the creaking timbers Of a shack he called home, A sombre existence For a sombre man. And I still think of him That solitary man Clinging to the moon as he rides the high fells, Whisling the song of the wind, Telling me stories On cold winter nights When I longed to be like him. But alas, there will never be another. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 103 [topic] => 21 [informant] => cashfan1 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 4 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 0 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )
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