Old man with wrinkled brow
tell me what you’re thinking now…
I think of memories, turned now to dust
and golden times, covered now with rust.
I think of rivers running clear
and a lovely wife who was so dear.
Of family sounds and laughter, too
and a tiny home, round which ivy grew.
Of skies, once blue with dotted clouds
and a little chapel, where heads once bowed.
Of so many days and years gone by
hearing my first daughter’s cry.
I think of myself, standing tall
so young and brave, in the mirrored hall.
And of the times I thought of me
all the others I just could not see.
I think of all my friendships, too,the ones that were so good and true
the ones that were so good and true
I see faces, smiling, talking loud,
as my house they helped erect, my field, plowed.
They’re all gone now, they faded and died.
(I wonder if they knew how I cried?)
But, it’s been a long life – and a good one
and I’m ready for that day to come
when I’ll meet up with my wife so fair
we’ll make, again, a wonderful pair…
Old man, said I, when will you die?
When I am ninety-three. That’s when I’ll be free!