Sent Off

Beneath a spire of weathered stone
I watch the people going home
Their night embraced in love and song
The final act a long time gone

For me as London’s lights grow dim
I take another swig of gin
And contemplate with heavy heart
A life that stopped before its start

A one armed man high and alone
Stares down on us without a home
His face like ours so cold and grey
Whipped by the winds of yesterday

How many times he must have seen
Men dreaming what they might have been
As on this concrete bed they lay
Their dreams a million miles away

And if you ask them how they came
To be sent off in life’s rough game
They will tell you how the whistle blew
Before tomorrow’s dream came true

Now the lights are very dim
So I take another swig of gin
And toast the one armed man whose height
Watches over us each night.

Mike Simmons