The old man
The frail old man walked towards the stairs
he lived all alone with no-one to care
his muscles complained with each step he took
he stopped by the mirror and with tired eyes he looked
when did he get so worn and old
a wrinkley face with a tale to be told
he closed his eyes and remembered with a smile
a time when he was young with a movie star style
he opened his eyes hardly recognizing himself
when did he get so old, in such bad health
with a weary sigh he began to climb the steps
holding tight to the rail and taking deep breaths
time for bed to dream of yester– year
in his minds eye he saw it so clear
tall and handsome, the envy of all
no longer frail and tired, he was having a ball
rushing around not a care in the world
a girl on each arm, and brown hair with a curl
the frail old man asleep in his bed
could do all the things his old body would dread
a wonderful time till dawn comes around
then once again by his body he’s bound
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