Earthtone McGee

He had told me he would be hiding under a tree
or lying in the latent scrunge of the riverbank,
Earthtone McGee is free and he is waiting for me.
Making friends with rabbits and dragonflies,
he’s always found tramping along sodden bridal paths,
when Californian sunshine hits the English countryside.
A broken guitar and a half filled notebook,
many wooden beads decorate his slenderness,
nothing more as he travels light across lands.
The city reaches out a foul hand to grab him,
I admire the way he retreats to his bed of moss,
slumber away from the bright lights and taxis.
His smile promises a strange hazy sense of hope,
the handsome ponchoed prince of roots,
welcoming everyone back to earth.

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