Another Old Has Been
I can’t help but wonder if when I’m an older man
And the moss is hanging gently from the trees;
Will the children come around and play
Hide and go seek
As from time to time they still do?
Or will they on the other hand,
Look upon me as “Another old has been,”
Waiting for my time to return
To the distant dwelling of my
Oh-so longed for, eternally awaiting home.
The children have no sense of who I really am;
No clue as to the history or longevity of my sojourning soul.
Realizing this, I smile, wave and wish them well
Knowing there’s a high probability
We’ll run into one another somewhere,
Sometime again, in the near or distant future;
Either in this life or the next.
I notice birds nesting in the oak tree
Where the Spanish moss still clings
And I’m enchanted with the songs they sing.
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