Old Man Poem by Barry Middleton

when the old man got sick
he sat on his couch a lot
and looked out the window

there he saw what used to be
the dogwood bloomed
a few more years for him

he knew the end was coming
had already come
his truck rusted in the shed

across the muddy bean field
that once was cotton
the green creek still flowed

his weaknesses were gone
along with his strength
he had no smile or anger

if the fall was not too cold
at Thanksgiving
he might open the window

and far beyond the river
he would hear on the wind
the hunter's hounds baying