I listened to the old man’s sighs,
he bowed his head and closed his eyes.
Back in time his memories went.
His shoulders and his back were bent.
His face took on a haunted look,
as he scrolled through his minds scrapbook.

A smile appeared and up he glanced,
remembering some time enhanced
by pictures entering his mind,
something that he had left behind
in those faint far away spent days,
recollected down distant ways.

And then his countenance turned grim,
a stark event came back to him,
forgotten for a long, long spell,
making the shining tears to dwell,
within those seeing orbs that shone.
Is someone missing? Someone gone?

I saw before me a man wise,
and watched him as he tried to rise.
Stumbling, weary, along the road,
carrying such a heavy load
of sorrows, pain and things now past.
On cobblestones his shadow cast.

So slowly he advanced towards,
a shelter made of plywood boards.
And climbing in, was out of view,
his name, his age, I never knew.
I turned and walked across the square,
thinking that life was so unfair.

Next day I heard that he had died,
and that’s when I sat down and cried.

Ernestine Northover

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/someone-missing-someone-gone/