The man who walks.

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The leaflet distributor

I’m not a poet, but sometimes I am touched by the stories behind what to us may seem like insignificant things. Have you ever thought about the people who stick leaflets in your post box? Why would they do work like this in all kinds of weather? This is a poem about a reason why some of these men might walk around for hours and hours day in, day out. I hope next time you see one of them, you can give them a little encouraging smile.

The Walking Man

despite the rain, the snow or freezing wind,
despite,the laws for men like him,
who ran away from wars,
this brave man would do anything to see

The children who are missing him,
far away, unhappy and alone

that’s why he walks
Every day,
to bring the ones who have a home,
the paper leaflets of toys to buy
Food to eat, anything to own

Sweat shimmers and runs down his cheeks
like the tears he cries at night
when he’s alone
and in his dreams he holds them tight,

the children who are missing him,
far away, unhappy and alone

that’s why he walks
Every day
to bring the ones who have a home.
The paper leaflets of toys to buy,
things to eat, anything to own.

The racist slurs, the shouts, the laughs
don’t hurt him anymore.
He‘s only working for the day
when he will hold them close ,

the children who are missing him,
far away, unhappy and alone

That’s why he walks
Every day,
to bring the ones who have a home.
The paper leaflets of toys to buy
Food to eat, anything to own

In 20 years when the apology will be
applauded in the Dáil,
will he accept it or just laugh
and think “despite your laws, I brought

my children who were missing me
far away, unhappy and alone.

That’s why I walked
Every day
to bring the ones who had a home.
The paper leaflets of toys to buy
Food to eat, anything to own

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