The Crooked Man and His Cart
He parked his cart across the way
And walked unsteadily that day
His back was bent, his clothes a mess
I hope he doesn't sit by me - I thought - I must confess.
His coffee came served with a smile
The proprietor he liked his style
The old man lit his smoke and sat
And fell asleep - I had to laugh - still in his hat
After his nap he then awoke
Downed his coffee, had a smoke
Then staggered off to fetch his cart
It rattled on the cobbles - wobbly wheels - and touched my heart.
This was in France and here he is.
There he goes with his cart. Ours is the orange car he is passing. We went to France for a few days for my birthday in 2005, phew, 4 years ago.
