T H E O L D M AN
An old man walks his withering way.
With absence of thoughts, his mind goes astray.
In cumbersome walks on legs of harsh pain.
He stumbles and balks with the use of a cane .
Wrinkles are captured to embrace his face .
His youth has raptured without a trace .
Decades of old have made him cold inside
Humility hard folds his previous pride
An ancient back aches thru decay of years
In solitude he breaks to shed soft tears
In a mindless daze shuffling slowly along.
He hums a phrase from septembers song .
His tired thoughts drift to some other time.
When a spirit was swift and in its prime .
He stood strong and wild in a yesterday.
The ladies would smile as they passed his way.
Great strength and power were his to display.
Strong men would cower and avoid his way.
Greatness has vanished thru corridors of time .
His muscles are banished to live in his mind.
He now awaits the end of lifes picture show .
So his soul may amend in a spiritual flow .
His search goes abound for death be his seeker .
To place him to ground; He calleth The Grim Reaper!
