Pipe Poems: The Old Man

THE OLD MAN

Night has fallen on the day, as he sits down in his chair
On a quaint and cozy wooden porch, while evening cools the air
He packs his pipe just like he has, so many times before
And for once he doesn’t worry, what tomorrow has in store

The striking of his match reveals, the white hair on his head
As flame gives way to briars glow, white light fades into red
The ember highlights deep carved lines, that run across his face
Placed there by a well lived life no dreams left to be chased

And as his bowl burns slowly down, he contemplates his life
Trusting that he did his best, by his children and his wife
among the notes from Burleys and, Virginia swirling round
The moon highlights the dew like, tiny stars among the ground

And as he ponders what comes next, given only by God’s grace
Pipe grip relaxed he breathes his last, with a smile upon his face