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Alee Bonne Calvert Poem
As I walked through the park in the late sun's light,
Watching the people jog by and a bird's lazy flight.
An old man sat on a bench up ahead
With the sun's rosy glow glistening on his head.
He seemed so forlorn just sitting there,
The breeze gently ruffling his white, thin hair.
His hands were clasped around his trembling, gnarled fingers
And as I came closer I decided to linger.
"Excuse me," I said with a smile,
"Do you mind if I sit here for awhile?"
His head came up as the old gentleman slowly stood
And he said, "I'd be honored if you would."
As we sat we talked of several things
Of things in the past and what the future may bring.
He spoke of the people who had walked by
Never looking at him or saying hi.
He was old, he said, and past his prime.
He understood - no one now had the time.
People today have so much to do
Spending time with the old ones is not what they choose.
He had a son, he said with a sigh.
Who he feared was letting life pass him by.
His boy thought only of making money
And he seldom saw nature's beauty or things that were funny.
He was always in such a hurry dashing to and fro
That he would never have a chance for his soul to grow.
My eyes strayed from the man's wise face
And saw someone walking towards us at a very fast pace.
As he got closer he suddenly yelled,
"Hey, Dad, let's go, I've got a date.
We have to hurry, I don't wanna be late."
The old man looked at me with sadness in his eyes
As he rose and graciously told me good-bye.
He shuffled away, such a lonely old soul
Whose life's ups and downs had taken their toll.
"Wait!" I said, heading his way
There's something I'd like to say.
Thank you, kind sir, for talking to me.
You've been very enjoyable company.
Then quickly I leaned and kissed his cheek
On that face that once again had become old and bleak.
Now it lit up with eyes much brighter
As he walked towards his son with his step a little sprightlier.
But the son stood impatiently as his dad came his way.
Not realizing his greatest treasure was fading away.
Copyright © Alee Bonne Calvert | Year Posted 2006
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Details |
Alee Bonne Calvert Poem
He sat
with fingers on the keys,
and head hanging low,
Waiting
for the music to flow.
The hits and awards
when his life had been brighter
where that of a talented songwriter
He took a deep breath
and let it out slow
Waiting
for the music to flow
But the music is gone,
his talent grown cold
The drugs and alcohol
have taken their toll.
His fingers on the keys
his head hung low
He sat
waiting
for the music to flow.
Copyright © Alee Bonne Calvert | Year Posted 2006
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