Once on a hill lived an old man
beside his house stood a rusty old van
On the veranda in his rocking chair
Over the valley he would sit and stare
Sits and wonders of what life`s become
Leans over and puts down his rum
He slowly gets up and rises to his feet
As all his bones ace and start to creek
He smiles at his dog when it licks his leg
As if to say come on, lets go throw i stick
As he crosses the floor his boots make a thud
Leaving behind him a trail of mud
Across the lawn he starts to walk
Looks up as he hears the cries of a hawk
As it flies high up in the breeze
Once more his old heart it does please
He sighs as he knows his time is near
His life was full so he has no fear
With a tear in his eye he looks back at the house
Thinking back of his long lost spouse
Wonderful memories that they once did share
Now left alone, he has only despair
He thinks of life that him has past
And wonders how it all went so fast
As he turns around without a sound
He heart stops and he falls to the ground
So as he starts to draw his last breath
To take a hold and embrace his death
He thinks once more of the one he did loved
Knowing his body in the ground they will shove
So now back in heaven they will unite
That eternal kingdom, what a site
So together once more they will be
And no longer a lonely man you will see
For eternity they will spend time in love
Up in the clouds in heaven above
Now back at home, out in the fog
At the end of the veranda, sits a lonely dog
He waits in the hope that the old man will come home
So that quietly at his feet he`ll chew his bone
So he turns and looks at the empty chair
His heart aces as he wonders why the old man is not there
He starts to howl as if to call the old man
As he sits on the veranda next to the rusty old van
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Good relation between man and animal you have painted. Documentation of a lonely old man, a jounalistic piece of work no doubt. Above all we can feel the dog also very near. Old style of writing poetry. Any way, write more and come out from this phase of mingling journalism in poetry. Run long.....Live long......write more...... Apoet Bangla