The Mislaid Crutch

It looks like a sad story:
The tale of the mislaid crutch.
Forgotten by a town bench,
Its owner’s hurry such
That it is left behind,
Abandoned like past dreams;
A piece of modern refuse,
Jetsam in the city’s streams.

But why need this be a sad tale?
The tale of the mislaid crutch.
When a story can be written
It’s surely preferable to clutch
To the hope that at the ending
There is joy in place of tears:
Perhaps a stranger walks unaided
For the first time in long years.

But there still remains a pathos:
The tale of the mislaid crutch.
Now united with the town bench
Like a man and my old Dutch,
The one props up the other:
Bench so solid, wide and short,
Appears to maintain slim Crutch,
When, in fact, it’s Bench who needs support.

© Fergus Longfellow


Fergus Longfellow looks for the positives… but fails.

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