He sat in his old rusting truck
Feeling his age, and out of luck;
To his daughter-in-law
An impossible burden
No longer allowed
To get a word in;
The revolver that he got
In the Korean war
Lay on the seat beside him;
This knobby hill
Such a tranquil spot
To shoot himself and die in;
He lit his final cigarette
And sucked the rich smoke down
An old man who had few regrets
With no purpose to hang around ?
We are destined to be old rusty trucks After a million miles on life's highway Obsolete models with no fuel or luck Just eyesores with wheels and tons of rust........ Great poem Sir and welcome to my page too
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
So thought filled David. With my luck my horn will get stuck!