The Man at the Bottom of the Stairs

It starts with the sound of one lone whistle
smoother than wool, but sharper than a thistle
Rolling around in his very own home,
Without one whimper or a cursory moan
Clouded by solemn and all that is old
All that is left is the memories he holds
With his wife gone and children astray
It is yet this one whistle that he hears everyday
Passers glide by without giving him a thought
missing out on lessons this man could have taught

It starts with sound of one lone whistle
smoother than wool, but sharper than a thistle
with the war in his past and the fun he had had
he stares in the wind feeling happy and sad
reminiscing to those who he came across
behind his eyes you see him lonely and lost
but still a smile invades his face
alongside the whistle he tweets with style and grace
although life seems empty with nothing to do
hope is near aspiring for something new

It starts with sound of one lone whistle
smoother than wool, but sharper than a thistle
others may see a man stricken with grief
while I see a man with such prosperity and belief
when trudged footsteps cloud the noise
I stop and stand in a moment of poise
whenever I feel in depth or despair
I shall think about the man at the bottom of the stairs