Back hunched
fingers shaking
he knows he is old
but he keeps going.
From the white of his hair
to his yellow teeth
age is spelled out boldly
and he never sleeps.
He knows he’s going
he knows it’s his time
he holds on to everything
he will leave behind.
But when the time comes
on the hospital bed
there is too much pain to remember
all he wants to say.
He is a man of few words
yet he tries to speak
words for children nearby
and those out of reach.
He never got the chance
as he lay in pain
a dead man whose life
they tried to save in vain.
The procession follows him
from the house to the park
of soil and grey stones
where eternity lurks.
Oh, how his children cried
oh, how the visitors weep
as they lay him down
for the earth to keep.
If we are to leave anything behind in this world we must do it long before we lay on our death bed.
Beautiful poem.