An old man walks through the cluster of white townhouses, clinging to the sidewalk
The sound of the wind and light drizzle against the trees is like a drum
He gently hums
Carrying an abandoned and rusty shopping cart
He’s dragging it along
Careful not to overwork his aching foot
He’s dragging it along
The trees watch him, stoic and indifferent; their branches are barren, the leaves won’t last
He continues along the rain-soaked stone path
Looking out at the church, with an old rugged cross in the yard on a hill
He enters a silent prayer, very still
He bends his head down
Hoping to exchange the cart for a crown
If that works, he’ll exchange the crown for some small talk
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