Shakes his head, looks at the ground,
Makes me wonder where he's from;
What, in his life, has gone so wrong?
I watch him talking to the trees;
He feeds the birds, sings with the breeze,
And, from my window, every day,
I see him join the fox in play.
His hair is white, his eyes are blue
And focussed on a distant view;
He's happy now, that I can tell,
Although I do not know him well.
The way the stranger walks around,
Shakes his head, looks at the ground,
Makes me wonder where he's from;
What is his pain? How much? How long?