He was muttering to himself
Of good times gone past
Burned in his memory
To make them last

He was reminiscing to a time when he was a little boy
Playing in the park was one thing he did so enjoy
Laughing and running everywhere
Not having a single care
Chasing the ducks, geese and swan
As they gathered near the pond
The scent of the fresh blossoming trees
The soothing touch of a warm spring breeze

Oh to be a child once more
Much more fun than being eighty-four!

His reverie now interrupted
By a butterfly winging near the tree
The little old man suddenly laughs out loud with glee
He tries to catch it
But it flutters away
A little breathless he sits back down beneath the cooling shade

Realizing the time, he remembers the snack he made
He opens a little sack and begins to eat
When all is done, he rises from his seat

Then he sees me sitting across the way
He nods his head, says "Good day."
With a heavy sigh he heads for home looking somewhat grim
As I watch, I feel a sadness for him

Copyright ©2000 Edith Bael