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The Old Man

Time's rhythm races
Within the blink of life.
The old man paces,
It cuts him like a knife!

His face in the puddle
Mirrors ripple, cold.
He murges in his muddle
Feeling empty and old!

Vague pictures of sunshine,
His love on a swing,
Sweet echoes of bell chimes,
A gold wedding ring!

He blinks at each memory,
And shuffles on in dream,
His heart feeling heavy,
His soul about to scream!

Joy Weare.
15th May, 2005.





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