The Cloaked Stranger
A sits by the window,
Sipping tea ever so slowly.
Tea,liquid black as oil and smouldering like a winter chimney.
Sitting watching the cloud fly by and seasons change.
Through his wrinkly, sleepy eyes.
The doors opens, with the tinkle of a bell.
Moving not he sits by his window.
The dog limps by welcoming the cloaked stranger.
Our freind those not hear the bell or the cloaked stranger but has fallen to the gound.
With the tea spilled over the table cloth like blood.
He did not meet the cloaked stranger, the cloak strange met him and now he was newer there.