Old Man

I saw an old man sitting there,
Whispering words no-one could hear,
Closed his eyes and faced the sun,
I saw him see each memory,
Of all that was or could have been,
And every race that he had run.

I saw his fingers bend and touch,
An unknown task, the hand of his true love,
A heart, hard-fought and won,
And I seen his smile break through the light,
He couldn't hide it if he tried,
And I knew then, that he was done.

I wondered just who he was,
Content to sit there and just watch,
And guess at how he had become,
A man whose face had more to tell,
Carved of stories he'd never sell,
Himself a tale, untold when gone.

And now and then when I'm alone,
I close my eyes to up and go,
To that place for a little while,
Where moment and memory are lived again, 
Where the old man found his end,
Far away beyond any minute or mile.

As and when my own time comes around,
I'll look for a comfortable place to sit down,
I'll rest and close my eyes a while,
And as I turn my face up to the sun,
I hope to see everything and everyone,
And see enough there, to make me smile.