Much of my apparel have I left

By the way - and passing beggars better dressed.

But I retain my coat, if somewhat worn,

To ward off rain and wrap against the storm.

The buttons, it is true, have come unsewn

And in the pockets hungry holes have grown.

But if I spent each waking moment here

With thread and needle, mending every tear,

Then never more a journey would I make,

But steadily amass a mighty 'robe;

And fearing that my walking stick might break

And I, in silk, should fall upon the road

- Unmoving sit, to save my finery -

And envy common people tramping free...

And that is why, with tattered coat and stick,

I ramble on and glamour makes me sick.

For they who go abroad in rude attire

Heed not the highway's mud and clinging briar.

Michael Muller

was born in Ireland in 1981 and Lives in Sneem in Co. Kerry.

He was an award winner at the age of twelve in the first Poetry In The Round competition and has been writing stories and poetry from a very young age.

This poem is published in an anthology entitled:

Copyright of all poetry on this website is retained by the author.