When I Am Old
Here stood a tree I remember it well...upon the top of look-out hill
it swayed and danced of dreams untold and traced the sky of love behold
a place where youthful days begone though still alive a drifting song...
held in his aged hands
lie folded with silken lines
one thousand poems
When I am old and the hour of death is close at hand I shall count the falling grains of sand and traipse in dance a book of dreams to lie along the winding stream I shall confess each sin upon the sky and drown the guilt of days gone by.....
as the sun peers through
a book of seasons passing
Leaves of silver shine
Copyright © Rick Parise | Year Posted 2023
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