The Man in the Soft Gray Suit
A Poem; Selection I, Of The Curation
Some said he was a master-
mind, others thought him a
spy; the old man in the soft gray
suit, sitting quietly and alone, his
thoughts far away from where
he was; a stranger quite
unknown.
He wrote with a wooden pencil
words in a tiny black book;
Containing things he would or
could not share, where no one
else could look.
Children laughed making fun
of him, the old man in the Park;
who gave bread to the pigeons
as their god of mercy when the
snows fell, and the skies were
dark.
I do not remember when they
found him, covered with soft-
snow, frozen in the dark.
I too, am now an old man with a
tiny black book in the park.
He sat with frozen fingers
around a wooden pencil
wrapped. The black notebook
found unopened on his cold
snow-covered lap.
When the little black book was
opened, only poetry was
penned; with the exception of
the last few pages, where
written over and over again,
in words smaller and smaller;
“Peace on Earth, Good Will
Toward Men.”
The Curation; Write For Our Publication:
The Fine Writer Of This Piece:
Another Piece by Gary Orphey — Black Pond; A Poem:
A Piece By Joanie Adams from the Curation:
May the day beam Solarity upon You — dear Reader.
