Scavenger (Poetry)

I’m one of Nature’s scavengers
I hunt along the strand
or in the streets where litter blows
tossed from a careless hand

I search the kerb for coins and such
small things from pockets fall
yet few look down and notice them
most walk around too tall

The high and mighty rarely see
the ground beneath their feet
their eyes don’t stray from straight ahead
our gazes seldom meet

for I’m the gleaner in bare fields
a picker-up of bones
I scour the rubbish tip of life
I turn old mossy stones

I comb the tourist-ravaged beach
and save what I can use
I gather in the lost and found
to satisfy my muse

What one man might consider junk
is treasure to my soul
so I collect what’s thrown away —
the broken and the whole