He was a stump of a man.

Stood barely four-foot six

Seen each and every morning

Through the sleepy village trudging

Clubbed foot, circumstance of humble birth


Twisted furrows in his dusty wake

A collector of things cast aside



No heed to taunting children

Nor growling mongrels

Vying for scraps tossed


To those of higher calling


Henry was his Christian name

Known only to his makers

Others called him Stump

Or nothing at all

Now dead and gone


Long buried on a barren patch

Baked dry by a ruthless sun



Caily Post Keyword: Stump


About Phil

Hi, my name is Phil. I’ve managed to escape the corporate world, rid myself of excess belongings, travel the country extensively in my old Winnebago, and find a new home on a beautiful barrier island in the Gulf of Mexico. I define myself as: a free spirit, a writer, a philosophical anarchist, a poet; a lover of nature, a lover of art, a protector of animals, as well as a devoted friend and partner
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5 Responses to Stump

  1. Stump Man!! I love it. Nice work, as usual Phil! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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