A Morning's Peace
By butch
A kind old man he goes to the park in the daytime when the birds flock He always brings bread in a little bag held in his hand as he sits the bench In the quiet morning he claims his spirit finding an affirming of lifes tranquility He breaks his bounty sharing with his friends throwing pieces aloft caught in mid-flight He talks to them and they do listen he tells his stories of today and yesterday When done the feast he wades the crowd returning to the world and his crumbling castle And there he dreams of yore and what was as he waits for tomorrow and a new journey Where it is only him and his little cronies alone in serenity and peace at last....... Written February 15th, 2002 © on Feb 15 2002 12:47 AM PST 10 • 0
AI analysis available. Enable JavaScript to interact.
About this line
"A kind old man..."