‘Tramps’ poem from Jim (80)

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EIGHTY-year-old Jim Stubley, of East Street, Rippingale, says: “I wrote this poem about tramps a few days before reading David Gray’s letter in the Lincolnshire Free Press of May 1 (Police didn’t respond to disgusting sight of homeless man in doorway).


In summer I went bowling

On nearly every Saturday.

Just get my bowling shoes on,

Then I’d be on my way.

But a hungry tramp came to our door,

As hungry as can be.

I gave him some bread and butter,

No time to make him tea.

Mother had a favourite little tramp,

When we lived in Middle Street,

One day mother cooked him dinner,

Just for a little treat.

One tramp slept in our chaff house,

He said I hope you do not mind.

Mother called her tramp little Robin,

To him she was so kind.

Little Robin had red cheeks and he used to say,

“I’ve been a farmers boy”.

When I gave my tramp some bread and butter his eyes lit up,

I bet the poor sod was hungry.