Nothing Like White Rose's Hiding In Briars

Hiding behind soiled curtains, unknown some people behave like spiders- living reclusive lives alone never time for any outsiders aloof as fawns and leprechauns. Nothing -like white roses hiding in briars. Often, there's an underlying thorn. Where dementia and mental health issues went on bleeding, lovelorn long ignored. I remember a strange neighbour. Who wore his mother's old clothes? Ivy clad all his windows and doors. But for all my grown-up neighbours Seeing him dishevelled became the norm, doing their daily chores. So, intrinsically, as a child, I stayed away. But I watched him, this poor, dishevelled man. Oh, how abnormal and subnormal is he? What must he have suffered by staying that way? Never time for any outsiders. Aloof as fawns and leprechauns Nothing -like white roses hiding in briars He'd search bins, black, oily-skinned I thought, what could be ungodlier? I thought, what a survivor, what a warrior! My heartfelt it-could-break As I stared at him with my own two eyes filled with helpless self-pride. I never knew his name. It-was-never spoken but I got to know some part of my shame. I guess he died when I saw all that old ivy- was slung aside. His doors and windows, visible, opened to the skies. He'd never time for any outsiders. Aloof as fawns, leprechauns, and spiders nothing -like white roses hiding in briars.