Creative Writing 7.

there was a someone,
no one knew this man.
he always sat alone,
and stare as the animals ran.
the children were afraid too talk to him,
for he was the silent type.
with his jumbo hat,
and smoking pipe.

Everything around him was a bloom,
it was better than locked inside a room.
he saw many people pass,
and the people tending to the grass.
only morning in this park,
he would stay 'till dark.
it smelt of a sweet summer day,
the kind for a lay.

in his stare,
with his long facial hair.
alone,
no one to share his pity.