The Old Man In The Park

The old man rests on the bench in the park,
hearing birds sing to the dogs that bark.
His pink eyes sag and his back bent low,
watching the dance of the people go.

He ran on the field as a child with mum,
and walked as a man with his smiling bride.
He played in the trees with his new born son.
and crunched through the leaves when his old wife died.

The winding path like a trail of smoke,
and every snaking bend he knows.
On the golden tower clock he waits
for the hour to strike and the park to close.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.