A SHARED GIFT
Posted: Mon Dec 12, 2011 8:18 am
A shared gift
Two carrier bags held all he had – that and his well worn swag
and a blanket threadbare, tattered , wrapped his shoulders ‘gainst the cold
He was one bloke who’d seen better days but now with memory fading
and lonely, he walked city streets – unwanted, smelly, old.
Some said he had a sister in the suburbs quite nearby
who had often tried to get him off the streets
but he wouldn’t bide, and in the end it seems that she had left him
to the life he chose to live, tramping pavements with his feet.
But the winter city offered little hope. Seeking asylum
to the Salvos he this day wended his way,
and he found the door was open and was greeted with a smile
with a plate of hot food offered with no charge at all to pay.
The young lass who waited tables had the brightest sapphire eyes,
her smile would make a diamond blush in shame.
Her slim white hand upon his shoulder rested for a while
the first human touch in ages, and she called him by his name.
“There’s a bed here waiting for you Joe if you should change your mind
and a hot shower - soap and razor by your bed.
You know the tuckers good here mate – we’d love to have you stay
with us a while – we’ll keep you warm and fed.
We’ve clean clothes in the storeroom you can choose what you would like
and I reckon we can spare a blanket to,
and if you stay a while I’ll make sure your boots are mended.
I’d look forward to spending Christmas with you.
Downstairs we have a tree you know. It’s nothing big or flash
but it’s real…a cypress Dad cut on the farm,
and I reckon you would like it for the memories – you know
the scent of cypress carries its own charm.
Mind you we’d have to charge for this generosity
there’s no such thing in life as a free feed.
We would take it very kindly if Banjo you would recite
and a bit of Henry Lawson we might plead.”
Old Joe just nodded dumbly for his eyes were full of tears
and he squeezed her hand to let her know he’d stay.
He looked up into her face and his matching sapphire eyes
blinked rapidly to clear the tears away.
She looked just like her mother used to look so long ago
when he had walked out of her life and left her flat.
This girl had no idea who this old codger really was
but he knew she was his daughter and he was content with that.
Which was probably why every Christmas led him through these doors
to see Joanne without the need for complications.
To recite to her the poetry of Australia she loved
a gift from him to her that spanned the generations.
And she never once suspected that old Joe was her real Dad
he was just an old bloke – came in off the streets,
but for him she had a soft spot – just a little more than most
and without him she always just felt her Christmas incomplete.
Maureen Clifford © 12/11
Two carrier bags held all he had – that and his well worn swag
and a blanket threadbare, tattered , wrapped his shoulders ‘gainst the cold
He was one bloke who’d seen better days but now with memory fading
and lonely, he walked city streets – unwanted, smelly, old.
Some said he had a sister in the suburbs quite nearby
who had often tried to get him off the streets
but he wouldn’t bide, and in the end it seems that she had left him
to the life he chose to live, tramping pavements with his feet.
But the winter city offered little hope. Seeking asylum
to the Salvos he this day wended his way,
and he found the door was open and was greeted with a smile
with a plate of hot food offered with no charge at all to pay.
The young lass who waited tables had the brightest sapphire eyes,
her smile would make a diamond blush in shame.
Her slim white hand upon his shoulder rested for a while
the first human touch in ages, and she called him by his name.
“There’s a bed here waiting for you Joe if you should change your mind
and a hot shower - soap and razor by your bed.
You know the tuckers good here mate – we’d love to have you stay
with us a while – we’ll keep you warm and fed.
We’ve clean clothes in the storeroom you can choose what you would like
and I reckon we can spare a blanket to,
and if you stay a while I’ll make sure your boots are mended.
I’d look forward to spending Christmas with you.
Downstairs we have a tree you know. It’s nothing big or flash
but it’s real…a cypress Dad cut on the farm,
and I reckon you would like it for the memories – you know
the scent of cypress carries its own charm.
Mind you we’d have to charge for this generosity
there’s no such thing in life as a free feed.
We would take it very kindly if Banjo you would recite
and a bit of Henry Lawson we might plead.”
Old Joe just nodded dumbly for his eyes were full of tears
and he squeezed her hand to let her know he’d stay.
He looked up into her face and his matching sapphire eyes
blinked rapidly to clear the tears away.
She looked just like her mother used to look so long ago
when he had walked out of her life and left her flat.
This girl had no idea who this old codger really was
but he knew she was his daughter and he was content with that.
Which was probably why every Christmas led him through these doors
to see Joanne without the need for complications.
To recite to her the poetry of Australia she loved
a gift from him to her that spanned the generations.
And she never once suspected that old Joe was her real Dad
he was just an old bloke – came in off the streets,
but for him she had a soft spot – just a little more than most
and without him she always just felt her Christmas incomplete.
Maureen Clifford © 12/11
