The man who never was came to my door.
He sang a story of lost love and apple trees.
I was fourteen. He was close to thirty-four.
He asked for nothing and kept with his smile.
It was snowing but he didn't seem to mind.
He said he would only stay a while.
He blinked twice and followed his footsteps out into the night.
I never saw him again and I didn't know his name-
But in that moment, I decided to write.
His torn gloves and homeless scruff-
Only a smile seemed to be enough.
He sang a story of lost love and apple trees...
The man with no name.