Hippie (little poem by yours truly)


12 pointer
Dec 26, 2004
Western Ky.
Hadn’t written anything in many years. Thought about this one in my deer stand so I wrote it down. I’m no Robert Frost but used to have fun telling stories/poems.

His name was Hippie,
At least that’s all I knew him by.
He’d ride an old rusty bike,
Followed by a dog with one blue eye.

His beard was scraggly and long,
His hair dingy white.
He’d mumble to himself,
And sleeps at the park at night.

He never bothered anyone,
But we would pick and make fun.
We’d throw rocks and yell,
Just to see him run.

Sometimes we’d catch him,
Push his face in the dirt.
We’d all laugh,
And say a bath wouldn’t hurt.

That was his life
Pretty much every day.
Just a dirty old man,
With nowhere to stay.

I never thought much,
About what we’d done.
It was just some boys,
Having a little fun.

One day years later,
I see the old man.
He’s setting on a bench,
His face in his hand.

As I get closer,
I see tears coming down.
I asked what’s wrong ,
He says my pups no longer around.

He said he got too old,
I laid him in a box.
Placed him in a grave,
Underneath those rocks.

All the times I was mean,
Came rushing back.
I asked Gods forgiveness,
For the compassion I had lacked.

I got on my knees,
And begged the old man.
Forgive me for what I’ve done,
And he took me by the hand.

He said listen to me son,
If you want to be square.
The day when I die,
Just bury me over there.

He spent his remaining days,
Living safe from harm.
In a little old house,
Down on our farm.

He and pup are now together,
And all their time they’ll spend.
Under our big oak tree,
With a marker that just says… Friends.