An Old Man
Once upon a midnight dreary,
while I pondered weak and weary
about all the things I'd wished I'd done-
way back when I could still have fun-
a man of eighty, knocked upon my door.
He asked of me if I had an answer for
why no one could help him,
as his days were growing slim.
Seeing that I had no reply,
he screeched of the end growing nigh,
how his wasted days
had gone by in blaze
and how he wanted nothing less
than to stop and express
how the longer you let time go,
the fewer things you will know.
After I'd asked the man to leave
I sat, wondering if I should believe
in the old man
or stick to my original plan.
As I sit here now, looking back on life, I regret
all the great moments that I'd let
slip by for no reason,
one after another, season after season.
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