We helped him up and steadied him,
saw his wild eyes, spoke soothingly.
You took his arm, his state was grim,
and smiled, nodded approvingly.
Though taciturn, he made it clear
he simply wished to disappear.
We took him home. He lived nearby:
a tall, unlighted terraced place.
He went inside, without goodbye,
and now I can’t recall his face
but that night, passing, it was right
to minister as angels might.
Richard Fleming
