Sunday, April 28, 2013


The old men tell stories
And I sit and listen
They seem to appreciate that

They speak of the days
When the skies were all bluer
And everyone still said "How are you?"

They speak of the time
When people went dancing
And blushing boys kept pace with the twirling

Never knowing that someday
They'd be sitting and talking
In a cafe all grown old, and miss it

I watch them talk
I read their lips
I wait my turn to
Say I know

They argue bout politics
And who would have been better
And how things just aren't what they used to be

They shout and they scramble
They play chess and scrabble
And sometimes they deal me a hand too

They tell me to listen
To learn from their mistakes
To find a good girl and to love her

They tell me to take her hand
Hold it so tightly and
Never let go, but don't trust her

I watch them talk
I watch them grey
I wait my turn to
Say I know

Last week they took old Jim
To a home in Wisconsin
His family said it was for his health

And three weeks from today
Mr. McDowell will say
That he can't even remember knowing him

And two years from tomorrow
When I have time to borrow
I'll go back and find their group cut in half

And I hope that I'll be brave
And maybe visit a few graves
And that I'll join the rest at their table

I watch them talk
I watch them go
I wait my turn
To some day say

Me too

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