Just a simple poem about an old man. |
He sat on his porch, in his old rocking chair, strumming his old guitar. First humming a tune, then singing out loud, a song learned long ago. Looking out on his land, that he'd earn on his own, proud of his life so far. He sat on his porch, in his old rocking chair, Strumming his old guitar. An old country tune, he played every eve, it was habit since he got old. Once he sang to his wife, that sat by his side, long since she'd passed away. The thought of his wife, and living a good life, were the songs he always played. The sun going down, gave him to pause, his song came to an end. As he sat in his chair, he spoke a short prayer, that only made sense to him. "God, if I must stay alive, will ya stay by my side, until the sun don't raise"?. He took up his guitar, stood by his chair, looking up to heaven above. "God, thank you", he said, bowing his head, a tear running down his cheek. "Here I have lived, here I shall die, I know this to be true". But as long as he lived, each day he did not die, he would play his guitar anew. |