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Old Man

I see him walk
With humble grace
Head bowed
Hands folded
He has war medals
In some dusty trunk
Deep in his attic somewhere
Once a grinning youth
With carrot red hair
Hands that held his children’s
Hands that ended his foes
Hands that built planes
Hands that put a single rose
On the grave of his true love
Hands I take, when we walk home
I see a pride in him
A tired man
An undefeated man
Who laughed warmly
When Death knocked on his door
And invited him in for coffee
And a chat
Ice-cream and his dog
A cigarette smoking on the porch
And a smile in the sky
And a rusty old laugh
Echoing around
When we climbed marble stairs
To meet his Savior
In the fresh dawn sky.





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This article has 2 comments. Post your own now!

Shyzilla said...
Jun. 20, 2011 at 9:09 pm
this is so beautiful! i love the whole concept behind it..how beyond the surface appearance of your everyday encounters, everyone and everything has a story..soo love it
 
Queen-of-Sarcasum13 This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. replied...
Jun. 21, 2011 at 7:27 pm
thank you so much, i was writting it as a tribute to my pop pop
 
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