He was a stranger to most.
Few knew his name. He stood
full. Broad shoulders. A man
without a boyhood. Capable hands
scared from hard work. He was between
young and old. Thick wavy hair.
Wire rimmed glasses; searching, curious eyes.
Goodness in his voice. Mountains climbed
and rivers explored. No mention of family
no photos of friends. He labored well
at his work. Rented a one room
apartment. Hob nail boots. He waited
for no one. Had no need for roadmaps.
Was always on time. No umbrella;
rain posed no problem to him.
Few would understand him. No one
Challenged his past.
Roger Singer 