I still haven’t gotten the muse to write anything new. Perhaps the well has gone dry. In any event, here’s another from my archives. This poem is an homage of sorts to Jacques Brel and is what a few of my dear friends would call a “slit your wrists” poem. It’s a bit sad but I like it, so here it is. Stash
Henri The Elder ’91
Henri, the elder, sat in the park
He did this on a daily basis.
He remained there until the dark…
Taking his rest and observing faces.
So old but once very young…
Full of vigor and youthful ideals.
Now he sought only the warmth of the sun,
Existing from meal to solitary meal.
Each morning Henri sat upon his bench,
Tossing crumbs to his pigeon friends.
Even in a cloud burst’s drench,
He’d remain quietly until day’s end.
What Henri enjoyed most of all
Was to be amongst the children.
Full of future, so very small…
Fatigue never seemed to still them.
Recollections of the past returned
As he observed them at their play.
It was for his youth that Henri yearned
And the happy times that did not stay.
It was a glorious time of life and love.
A time that, sadly, could not last.
Summer days with no clouds above…
These were the reflections of his past.
As a youth, there was no tomorrow.
Passion and energy surrounded him always.
There was never a glimmer of sorrow.
Never the long, dark lonesome hallways.
Henri’s days then were bright and sunny.
The nights were luscious and warm.
Life’s desserts were as sweet as honey…
Love was his umbrella to the storm.
But the years quickly drifted by.
Henri realized that he had grown old.
His good friends had, in turn, died.
Nearly all of his stories had been told.
One day soon, there will come a time
When Henri’s bench will be untended.
Sadly, no one will observe the sign
Announcing that Henri’s stay had ended.
The children will still gather to play
And the hungry pigeons will continue to come .
Tomorrow will be another sunny day…
Henri’s brief stay will have been done.
Stash