Author: Will Berry
The old man sat on the park bench,
A tattered coat his shelter,
Life's forces draining from him,
Passerby not meeting his eye,
Thinking, 'Thank God, it's not I,'
A squirrel was looking at him,
Flexing its bushy tail,
An act of acknowledgement,
Then other little animals came around,
Looking at the old man from the ground,
A mangy dog came and laid at his feet,
An alley cat jumped up into his lap,
A veteran of the street,
The old man heard the birds in song,
Their symphony told him,
That he did belong,
He laid down with the cat upon his lap,
A final look at the fading blue sky,
He closed his eyes,
The old man had found a pleasant place to die.
Comments on this poem/writing:
|Keith (18.104.22.168) -- Sunday, December 1 2002, 07:03 pm|
Your poem broke my heart because it is so very truthful.Thank you for being a voice to many who speak but are not heard. Peace be with you.
Click here to read other Poems by Will Berry
Copyright©2017-1999 by Rebecca R. Hammack
COPYRIGHT NOTICE: All Rights Reserved. No part of this website, including all pictures and written words, may be reproduced or copied in any manner from this website without permission of the original author of the work. All poetry and pictures herein remain the sole property of the original author and/or copyright owner. All poetry on this website has been submitted by the original author of the work. To contact any author of the work please e-mail: firstname.lastname@example.org so the proper person may be notified.