He’s lost

 He’s lost


He’s lost his scaffold

His innards falling out

He’s lost his early faith

Now he’s plagued with doubt. 


He’s falling down a well

He cannot find his feet

Or tell when this fall

Will ever end at all.  


He’s lost his ancient way

He’s given up the hope

Of ever coming home 

To the empty house. 


He needs a friendly hand

He seeks a solid shoulder

To save him from himself 

To bring him hope and home. 


When least he thinks it likely

He meets another soul 

On the way one morning

Looking for a meaning. 


Now they meet for coffee 

A bagel or a scone

On Monday at eleven

It’s the simple things, you know. 

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