POEMS WRITTEN IN 1974*
THE TRUTH ABOUT DHANYA
His old skin is like the ground on which he sleeps, so also, his rags.
or walk without pain,
does odd jobs
for the ten families
of The Retreat, collects
a few coins every day,
uses them for tea
Given food, he eats, otherwise, he goes without. Quite a cheerful chap, really.
Nobody minds his presence
as he stumbles around the place.
He's lucky, in a way,
isn't out in the streets, begging.
We look after him
and he makes himself useful.
That's all the truth about Dhanya.
^Printed by permission of the author.