Quiet Corner

A quiet corner, in a busy footpath,
scraggy looker; shining copper plate
eaten from everyday, also clinks of coins
clumsy pedestrians give wide berth
with slaps of loose slippers,
over puddles of yesterday's rain,
as evening dawns on the night,
moons creeps along the amber sky
the corner occupant, leaves to his den,
made of crooks; plate under his arm,
clutched like sole possession,
plucks coins out into the master's chair,
sips a strong ferment
as he decides strategy of locale,
for tomorrow's corner.

© Harish Vittal

P.S - Don't know if this comes into the topic but seems 'Madness' of the human mind to me to beg at street corners as a part of the organised syndicate.