Pigeon stained benches

Feeding stainers in old straw hats

Withholding ancient thoughts

And why not at war are their skin sacks

It’s nearing an eventual end

Fogged eyes and cataracts

Shield them from clear pretence

Trembling wrinkled hands

Seeding pigeons with natures shakes

Just another memory together

One of many millions at stake

Seventy years and still a flicker

Flames that won’t be tamed

In those old barn lantern eyes

I watch sadly the passerby’s

Cloaking any acknowledgement


Old stories old lovers tell

I know because they’re my grandparents

Both Olympians of gold they once held

A record never to be spoken

Much like the bond that can’t bend their love

A song that sings of their lineage line

A verse paints each deep line with grace

But they are passed because their youth has died

The young see winter and pass on by

Snow valleys blaze in their old fires

In play a red robin flirts with their sun

Singing crisp clean songs knowing

Their winter has finally come

The robin wing flaps good-bye to time

Stories will die in days

But before thy kingdom come

These old skin sacks

Are among the ones

Who caught the gold!

Then caught their sun!


The Tic and Tock of clocks

Always warring

The tic took her

The tock took him

Winter once again

Can finally begin