The Old Man Poem by Hermione Femalton

In the quiet void of memories,
What does the old man see?
When the sun goes down on him,
Where does he want to be?

Is it his life that flashes before him?
Or is it a dearest face?
Is it the smell of flowers and grass?
Or is it a well-loved place?

Maybe his mind is empty;
His memory long since gone.
Maybe he's tired and weary,
Maybe he's lived too long.

Maybe he flees from death's cold hands,
Strug'ling not to cease.
Maybe he welcomes with out-stretched arms,
The sweet, warm land of peace.

February 2009