mosaic
He was so very tired
a fatigue that went on and on
not helped by a gloomy November day,
with nothing more to look forward to
in his plain walled room
than the dinner bell and bed

Outside, beyond the rain spattered window
brittle leaves eddied on the sidewalks
with more energy in death than ever shown in life
collecting in golden drifts
to be strewn about once more in their race with the wind

Through old weary eyes he watched as they jostled along
and thought back to a time, so many years ago
when he was just a lad
helping his father rake leaves from the yard
How he loved to gather up the golden mass
throw them high above his head
and dance as they showered down over him

What happened to that jubilant boy
so vital and full of life
When did the vibrant child transform
into the old tired man he had become
In the way of the very old
he had no recollection of the middle years,
his thoughts a mosaic of youth and old age
a jigsaw of abandoned memories.

Comments:
 
StarPoet   StarPoet wrote
on 11/18/2009 4:21:31 AM
And how many of us will one day wake up and realize this very thing? THe simple things we loved when kids we now have let the years of life take from us?

kiwigirl
Poetry
Free Verse
writing kiwigirl
The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart
--Helen Keller
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