Old Man in Daydreaming on the Porch

Old man, your head bowed down,

the sun beams wisely 

but the long shadows frown. 

They walk across the ground

by the cut-over field

where the leaves play chimes

in the wind this time.

The day is long,

it’s nearly gone. 

The wind stands still, 

then marches up the hill.

Old man, you once were young,

your time’s long past

but your head’s held high. 

You look up to the sky

and your smile is broad.

Your back is straight
and the wind is late.

Old man, the chair is hard,

the ground is dry,

the grass is brown,

but the water is cool

at the old well pump.

Old man, you sit on your porch.

You watch the corn fields

and the mighty old oak.

You listen to the heat

and the cricket by your feet.

The ceiling fan stirs

and you shift in your seat.

The night is young,
but the fireflies are old.

Old man, it’s time to go in.

Turn off the light and lock the door,

You’re there all alone

and your books are asleep.

The dog’s on the sofa, 

and the cat’s on the floor.

The bedroom window’s open

And you feel the cool breeze,

The curtains rustle softly

and the shadows are at ease.

There’s a moon out tonight,

and it’s quiet down below.

Sleep old man, 
it’s peaceful and calm.

And when the dawn comes,

you’ll be gone.

Written September 30, 2002

Last updated November 10, 2022