There's an old man sitting on a bench in the park.
A scruffy dog by his feet, on his lips a witty remark.
Not a tooth in his mouth, but he smiles anyway.
And if you ask him why, this is what he will say:
“I have a song in my head, and a smile on my face.
I have lived a full life of both sorrow and grace.
I have love so plenty, and stories to share.
And I live my life without a worry or care.”
His wrinkles are a map of a long, lasting life.
Of hard work, three sons, and a now deceased wife.
His hearing may be bad, and his vision turning grey.
But if you ask him, this is what he will say:
“I have seen my share of wonders, my friend
And I will hear the songs in my heart to the end.
So what need have I for these senses, I ask?
If they fail me, my memories shall rise to the task.”
The old dog by his side gives a soft little whine.
Licking his hand as if to tell him it is time.
He smiles and stands, shakes my hand for goodbye.
Then wanders off with a twink