We still talk about him
Under our breath when the evening comes
Sitting close by, with a bit of fear.
About the time he was chasing us
Laughing so strangely
And later hid
To spy on us from afar.
He lived there up the hill
He spent his days
Watching the sparrows fly
He played with the mouses, but he didn’t talk to us
We were pestering him
Trying to make him cry
But he didn’t mind us and went away
His father didn’t love him,
He beat him up everyday:
He couldn’t bear those strange eyes.
His mother consoled him,
He went away into the rain
Barefoot, he walked slowly.
They are so aloof
The things that happened once
But sometimes we still talk about him.
On summer evenings
When it’s boring here
Sitting close by, letting time fly by.