Permanently ruffled,

Pointedly calling,

Moving proudly,

He jousts with lazy passing boots

A mournful song,

Echoes across the afternoon

Waiting for a kindred spirit

Who will sit and listen to his art

Time passes,

Lunch ends,

Noone listens,

Or drops a crumb in appreciation

Clear light drips,

Into an afternoon of hazy sleep

I sit and watch in silence

As your voice warms the afternoon

I’m sorry little one

You came too late

I don’t have anything for you today