He was born into a lonely world of survivors
Born without a wooden spoon in his mouth yet walked with his head up
Wrapped in rag of sacks
Delivered in a pool full of pig foot steps
He never was lucky
He neither was found in the mist of the ‘well-to-do’
He never tasted the best of educational ‘pies’
But somehow he crossed borders
Borders that many dreamt to fly over
Borders that the mighty wished for
A ‘merchant’ he is today
Not so full of himself
Not so proud of his achievement
Not so arrogant to the smallest church mouse
He is a merchant of many colours
Colours of gold, purple, mauve and magenta
Engulfed by the shadows of the rainbow
A merchant so down to earth
Giving his heart out to be burnt in a hot sauspan
Just to save the dying poor masses…


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