An Old Man Poem by Barry Middleton
An Old Man
The dismal years may quietly creep
as he sits in his rocking chair.
His pride knows he can never weep
so he hides from cold despair.
He searches beyond the sunset view
that gilds the darkened pond.
But the indigo of evening hue
hides an empty promise of dawn.
He mourns and yet his will pretends
that the grave has some defense.
But the mockery of death descends,
to strip him of all pretense.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 5:59:33 PM # 1.0.0.1119
