THE OLD MAN

The old man sat on the park bench,

Face turned to the warm sun.

Tears slowly trickled down his cheek

In spite of the small smile on his lips.

Hands gnarled and worn gently gripped

The cane laid across his lap.

Years of hard labour had left their mark

On a body bent and racked with pain.

He sat with heard cocked to one side,

Listening to the sights he could not see,

For though his eyes had grown dim,

His senses and memories were still bright.

The joyous cries of the children at play

Sparked memories of the childhood gone by.

He could almost feel the sand beneath his feet,

And pictured friends long gone.

The perfumes of the women nearby

Brought memories both sad and gay,

Of loves lost in years of youth,

To loves that blossomed and grew.

Play children enjoy your youth

Too soon you grow to adult hood.

You lovers give your love every day,

For you too may be old and alone one day.

Bob Richards