An old aging poet sits alone
Away up on a country hill under a cloudy sky~
With a note book and pen at hand
Guess he ll write poetry till he ll die~
He looks at all as he always tries to
The beauty and creation ever grand~
He goes back in memory when all was as it should be
But reality always is on hand~
Coming back to the way things are
In this day n age~
He feels the greatest sadness
But cant put it all in ink on page~
He sees the way that things now are
In his once beautiful world of being~
And now his minds caught with times behind
And all the reality of now he s seeing~
He thinks of all the hospitals that cant treat the ill
The older cant afford to live~
Children and wefare and rising prices and all
And he thinks what have I left to give~
Progress has done most his age out of earning
The way he once could long ago~
His poetry was once so beautiful to read
But reality wont let him go~
His country offering millions to others
While their own back yard needs such repair~
And he sees in his mind in a matter of time
The domino effect of it all in the air~
Remembering when not so far back then
When fields of daisies grew~
And people loved one another more
And would never do the things that they now do~
But he sits alone on his hilly thrown
And strives to see what used to be~
He knows nature could teach us all so much
As he sits looking under a big old tree~
Little birds all being little birds
And insects and reptile being same~
The breezes still blow as on their way they go
And they know not hate or war or blame~
A leaf just fell in front of him
A breeze had the grasses dance~
And back into his memory he slipped
And enjoyed it so as if in trance~
He hasnt any answers or blame
Just sadness so many will never know~
Of all the joy he knew as a boy
In a poets world that he loved so ~
