It was an old chap, with an old little stick,
Big white moustache, a coat-the colour brick.
He walked alone, near the ocean blue,
Back bent, quivering hands, a ripped up old shoe.
It was all that he wore, with a muffler black,
Home less, hungry, he dragged along a dirty sack.
Eyes-emerald green, he looked as pale as a ghost,
With nothing to eat except one butter and toast.
He walked clueless, his tormented heart wept,
He didn't quite notice what his sack had swept.
A bottle he saw as he bent down,
Inside a note, with a picture of a clown.
He looked straight ahead and saw in the window,
A little girl, all smiles, laying down low.
He smiled back and took the note out,
'Be my friend ' it seemed to shout.
The old man had hope, a friend who could,
Help him from grief, from sorrow, if only she would.
He played with her every afternoon, as he should,
When one day he stopped coming to play for good.
The girl stopped waiting and went back inside,
To write with her crayons the words wide,
' Be my friend ' so she could put it in a bottle and wait,
For that person, she silently hoped wouldn't be late.
Copyright © 2009 by Sneha Murali
Sneha Murali
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-message-in-the-bottle/
