The gloomy sky overlooked the manor,

The wind and trees showing a contempt for each other

As the old man sat at his writing table

Not with the hunger and fervor one has in the days of his youth,

But with the spirit of recollection

A break from the busy world which always seemed to move.

With a fondness for seasons past he smiled,

He certainly had memories of such caliber that made it worthwhile

From the days of his youth where he played with his older siblings

To the day he became a proud grandfather whose life was worth living

One could almost forgive him for his maniacal laughter which echoed along the hallways,

Which for a second seemed to make the otherwise empty home feel alive

Just as it was thirty years ago.

Spring, just like his youth, being a distant memory,

He stepped forth to his window to see the snow falling over the once green grass,

Covering the once blossoming trees

Making a world which once seemed so full of life seem so hollow

And providing a frank reminder that at the end of the day

Our whole being and memories all have individual paths to follow.

Holding onto his walking stick he gazed blankly through the landscape,

Filled with a pang of regret,

Had he spent life wisely?

Ignoring his children for a corporate rat race

Now it was all gone – the kids have grown

And so he was burdened till the day he saw his late wife again.