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Busta Sonnets Old A lonely bench in a path soaked with rain, As the oak's orange leaves shiver and shake. The old man sits with his cane in his lips. His feeble hands rub together, only to break, But he has felt true heartbreak, so there's no pain. His old eyes look up and memories flood in, As the orange leaves drift into oblivion. Two children carelessly run around and play. Such a happy memory, warm as the rising sun, Something he hasn't felt since he was his kin. The old man closes his eyes and looks back down, His worn and patched hat falling from his head. Rain falls once more and hits his fragile skin. The lonely man is preserved on his bed. As orange leaves fall in the rain, he musters a frown.