A man's inside my garden fence.
He's bent with the gait of the lame.
His wrinkled stare brings me offense.
His countenance causes me shame.
He's bent with the gait of the lame.
As if he'd lost a bitter fight.
It feels as if I know his name,
But, dare not whisper it from fright.
His wrinkled stare brings me offense,
Accusing with his piercing gaze.
He seems to demand recompense
Eyes peering from forgotten days.
His countenance causes me shame
as his demeanor matches mine.
I pray that we are not the same,
Yet, to his destiny resign.
Honorable mention
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