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Defeated by Time
By: Tom Wright
2/8/03

His perch, a wagon seat high above the highway.
Directly in front----a four up; directly behind------a chuck wagon.
I've often wondered, what portion of life,
"Wagon John" has spent looking at the north end of a south bound mule.
What occupied his thoughts at sunrise,
and if it was always a new day's adventure.
Surely days came when the mere thought of another twelve hour day,
and unbearable heat were too much.
Was it always the adventure of the open country,
and what might lie beyond the next rise?
Did he just travel, or was there a clear cut destination?
But this is as it was,
Now, through the hourglass of life, whose orifice seems enlarged,
days are hastily escaping.
Moments ago it was spring, and life was young and crazy,
packed with innocent dreams.
But now, trees he once climbed no longer stand,
He's left frail of limb, and oft without steady hand.
His companions, dogs, mules, and Sugar foot, his mustang.
He dares not venture far from his steady supply of oxygen,
and his visions consist only of those glimpsed in his rear view mirror.
Though I have known "Wagon John" but for a few years,
the fellowship that we shared and the bonding that I felt,
money could never purchase.

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