.
Tin Can Dan
was a funny little Man.
He had a stoop when he walked,,
spat and dribbled when he talked.
He was out in the morning,
in the noon, the eve and night.
In the pitch-black you’d see Dan
with his little pen flashlight.
Searching through the bins,
through the gutters too.
Searching out those tin-cans
that were thrown away by You.
He always had those black bags
stashed about his person.
He’d fill them with those crumpled cans
that often cut his leathern hands.
He’d walk for miles every day,
collecting cans Tin-Can Dan’s way.
Smiling happily at everyone.
Some were scared,
most thought him fun.
B-O was his favourite Deo’,
baths he had no time for.
His clothes were greasy,
as they shone in his glory.
Those clothes could surely tell a story.
Dan never missed a Reading Rock Festival.
He knew all the kids,
they all thought he was a fool,
as he stooped around, black bags in hand,
he got a free ticket to every live band.
Each night he’d come back
with Wickes’s trolly overflowing.
Sack-on-sack of old tin cans,
he’d spirit through his front door
to his garden and his plans.
Each month or two the cones went out.
“In here!, In here!”
You’d hear old Danny shout.
The lorry parked outside Dan’s gate
and they loaded it up
with help from his mate.
Off to the scrappy,
Tin Can Dan was smiling now.
Through the pain of bone cancer
that made him stoop and bow,
he never complained though
as he stopped to wipe his brow.
The kids at the hospitals
all loved him that’s for sure.
As every penny Tin-Can-Dan made
was headed for their door.
TV’s, games and toys.
Treats to make them smile.
Was all the reward that Danny needed,
his sweat and tears had been rewarded.
Now passed away…..
Tin-Can-Dan…..
Can Keep Heaven can-free
To Keep It Tidy and clean
.
For All those Children Coming His Way Daily…..
.
Catch You Later …..
.
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Cheers ….. Ven.