As the wind stirs the leaves,
the crickets sing loudly with ease.
His surroundings are so peaceful and calm,
yet his mind is set like a ticking bomb.
The old man sits staring at his toes,
pondering vigorously that which no one knows.
Things of the future challenge his mind,
while the things of the past he cannot even find.
There are so many problems in which he must solve,
that sometimes he wish he would dissolve.
The old man gets up, goes to the phone, and awaits for a tone
wishing to talk, but knowing he is alone.
Awww, Jiv. Don’t you know old men don’t need anyone to be on the other end of the tone to talk? Why don’t you write anymore?