In thinking of a place name for the poem, Norwich just kind of popped into my head. After I finished writing the poem, I googled the name and was delighted to find there was not only an actual city of that name in England, but it also appears to be a charming one as well with the River Wensum ( Old English for ‘winding’ ) flowing through it.
THE OLD POET OF NORWICH
Each day he peddles his poems that nobody cares to hear,
Stopping at noon to rest beneath some shady elm –
His mid-day repast: an apple and a crust of bread,
Listening to the twitter of birds and watching the droning bee.
At evening’s close, he wearily returns to his humble abode,
Where after a meagre supper, sits thoughtfully before the hearth.
At night, he lies abed watching the star-filled sky
The sounds and rhythms flowing through his head,
Until he drops off to sleep to arise early next morn
To another day of peddling his poems that nobody cares to hear.
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( “The Old Poet of Norwich” © Poeticmeditation, 2012. All rights reserved. )