OLD MAN WALKING

I am the old man you see walking

Through the park on a day in spring

When trees are all abloom in pink and white

Or on a summer morning in a mesh-side hat

So the air can caress my memories

With a slow and gentle breeze

Or on an autumn afternoon

When trees declare a festival

Ablaze with leaves of red and gold

Or in an early winter evening

Darkness falling fast and hard

A soft glow street lamp

Lighting the way to home

John Robert McFarland

“Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.” Carl Sandburg