Poetry is a form that’s not easy for me to work in, but I do enjoy reading what other folks come up with.



He sees the day, on his porch the world is his scenery,

The shows are always different, nothing stays the same.

Everyday he rests his weary soul in his special place,

A lifetime of family and friends but slowly they vanish.

If you pass him by then not a care might you have,

He’s not just an old man, a mothers son, once a young man.

In his rocking chair he can go back in time, yesterday in his mind,

He watches the boy running with his friends, an old man at days end.

He has had quite a life as the value of his being does not fade with the days,

His time here has aged him just as it does every mortal being.

Don’t be fooled while this man with a name sits in his rocking chair,

He has much to say from a mouth, eyes that…

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