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The constant onlooker
I know an old man who lives down the lane
With a wrinkled, old face and a thin, wooden cane
From time to another, will waver an inch
But never is he known to rise from his bench
His face a still surface and a window for his eye
Content to be the witness of the world gliding by
As it croons its happy-sad, slow melody to him
A mind gently swaying to the never-ending rhythm
The fellow sits there all the morning to watch the dawn of day
Our sun is climbing through its realm to find its daily stay
Dabbed, the old man’s feet, by diamond drops of dew
On the face of all around the lane is brushed a brighter hue
Creatures, every breed, deliver their new-day song
A happy heart frolics with them all along
Persons stir from in their homes; call down the lane to say
“Good morning!’ to the one who always sees the dawn of day
He sits there all the afternoon to watch the noontime of day
Colors flit ‘round and ‘round to brightly lead the eyes astray
A hand of warmth envelops him throughout the lengthy hours
He sups the sun with budding leaves and blooming flowers
Blithe butterflies flutter; the aged trees creak and sway
A smile in the air when the children come to play
Majestic clouds bow low to him, only to swirl away
Bow low to the one who always sees the heart of day
He sits there all the evening to watch the close of day
Through windows of homes, to glimpse the folks that pray
But darkness crawls across the sky, keeps the light at bay
Lonely silence lingers when Day’s last sparks die away
Save a twinkle from dark depths; the stars have come to stay!
Light, darkness, silence, sound- skipping hand in hand
Beautifully joyous in the dusk-to-dawn band
A worn face in the shadows observes the array
The face of the one who always sees the close of day
Everyday
And feels Spring’s lively cheers
And Winter wielding chilly tears
And Summer with its golden grin
And Autumn with its crispy skin
The world so heartily embraced
By the wrinkled, old man
Who sits on a bench
And lives down the lane
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This article has 42 comments.
Aderes:
There! That's where, I remember you commented on one of my poems and said it was like The Green Mile and you couldn't remember where you'd said it before.
Oddly enough; I accidentally sent this one in twice (one as The Silent Raven and one by mail). The one in the mail got published, and this one didn't!
Of course I'll check them out.
Many thanks. This is the first poem I ever wrote.
I am one of many, including you it seems, who is often bewildered by the choice of poems in the magazine.
75 articles 16 photos 1136 comments
Favorite Quote:
I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel. <br /> - Maya Angelou <br /> When i was little/I used to point a chubby finger toward the dark sky/And ask my father/why some stars moved and others didn’t/He would laugh and explain that some were airplanes/I still wish on them today ~ Laugh-It-Out<br /> The feathers of a crow are black/The ink of my pen is blacker/The pain of my heart is blackest~ Mckay<br /> If love produced a blossom/I’d take it in my palm/What a blessing, the bright color!/How soothing, such a balm!/I’d keep a petal for my own/The rest, drop from my hands/For such a flower would multiply/And populate the lands~ thesilentraven<br /> And I began to rival legends/Long entombed before my birth./But for all my much envied fame/The lust for more would not abate./The plaques and prizes with my name/Will, like all things, disintegrate. ~ TheEpic95 now known as Helena_Noel