The night enfolds me
I hear the screech of an owl
Searching for his prey
Darkness is my friend
No on sees this face of mine
Now battered with age
Once I was a man
Nay even I was a youth
My life before me
Pretty maidens come
Surely you like sporting men
Do you not see me?
Dance my pretty, dance
How sweet are the memories
How bitter the pill
Those times have now gone
Cold wind whistles through grey hair
My eyes are so dim
The night enfolds me
I hear the screech of the owl
Searching for his prey
Image found at www.phoography.nationalgeographic.com
Age creeps up on us doesn't it Old Egg? Lovely piece of writing. :-)
ReplyDeleteA superb poem Old Egg - the emotion and imagery combined to leave a lasting and haunting image..all carefully woven back full cycle..i think he is seen..absolutely..
ReplyDeleteI'm sure there's life in the old Old Egg yet!Keith said you are missing me, so I wrote something. Tra-laaa!
ReplyDeleteFather Time and Mother Nature are a fine pair -
ReplyDeleteJust when we think we have got 'it' all, 'it' fades.