The sun shines on the ragged man;
the ragged man sits in the sun.
The dog advances, masterless,
to where the children fall at play
and there it sits as close-at-hand.
The man in rags looks to the air
and watches little birds in flight.

The children dare to touch this man;
they tug his rags to pass their time.
The dog lies deep down in the dust
and breathes as it has always done;
it marks the falling of the hours
with stirrings of its ugly tail.
The earth moves round the burning sun.

A magpie flies quite suddenly
from holly bush to laurel tree
for reasons no one comprehends.
A smile grows on the man's creased face
at sight of this. His smile is wide.
The children laugh to see his teeth.
The dog sleeps in its dusty place.

A seedhead drifts about the air
above the riddled creatures there:
its movements are unspoken for.
The man thinks only of the bird.
The children are in play once more;
they do what they have seen before;
they speak the words that they have heard.

The earth moves round the burning sun.
The seedhead moves in silence on.