The hermit

He was a strange kind of hermit
Living in a small flat
In a high tower block
In an inner city area.
He lived alone
Rarely spoke two words to anyone
Yet always smiled at everyone.
He was often seen hard at work
Stacking shelves, digging roads
Picking litter
Yet often unseen for weeks on end.
The door of his flat was never locked
Occasionally someone would venture in
To be greeted with a smile
But not a word.
A cup of tea, a biscuit
Or some bread.
Offered in
Silence.

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About Rosalie Squires

'Who am I?' is a question whose answer keeps evolving, that can be answered in many, many ways; that has no known answer at all. But there are some clues to be found: stocksharpsquires.wordpress.
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