The bearded man sat for a while on the bench outside Fathoms Deep -
He wore green wellingtons with thick soles and a leather hat -
A pouched belt went round his waist -
His camo gear was pristine, his skin deeply tanned -
He'd placed his ruck sack behind the bench -
He rolled a delicate cigarette with one cunning hand -
I wondered where he'd walked from, where he was going -
It was as though a pilgrim had walked into the gentle town -
He carried with him, I thought, the memory of sacred roads -
His shadow had been cast by a scorching sun -
Upon his tongue were the traces of ancient songs -
11.00
Thursday 16 March 2017
Wareham
Dorset
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