The Rag And Bone Man

The Rag and Bone Man

Through fog and dusk, he comes around,

The rag and bone man, coat earth-brown.

His cart creaks slow, his horse’s pace,

Two shadows moving, lost in grace.

With brassy bell and soft, hoarse cry,

He calls beneath the morning sky,

His voice a part of city’s hum,

Where all things lost and broken come.

Old kettles, chairs, a cracked mirror’s gleam,

The remnants of another’s dream.

Bits of metal, scraps of lace,

All find their home in his embrace.

His horse plods on, its steps grown old,

Through cobbled streets both damp and cold,

Loyal and steady, nose to ground,

As if each step, it knew its sound.

They pass unnoticed most of all,

A ghostly pair by warehouse wall,

But every day they trudge alone,

The rag and bone man, earth and bone.

And when the night enfolds the street,

The city’s cast-offs at his feet,

The rag and bone man fades away—

Until the break of another day.