Beside a Road

An old man sitting alone
Beside a signless road,
Chuckles quietly to himself
Beside his sanity.
A young child dirtily clad
Approaches the old man,
Curious of his odd expression;
Curious of his solitude.

Upon laying his small paw
Against the shoulder of the old man’s shawl,
The chuckling expression fell
Dropping to a remorseful, regretful grin.
“What are you doing?”
Inquires the child dirtily clad
As he sways side to side
With youth’s exuberance.

“I am sitting,” chuckles the old man
“Waiting for my bus.” Says he.
“Why,” asks the child to him
“Do you sit alone?” Still swaying.
And then with tear filled eyes and a smile
The old man seems tired and drained
Replying so quietly and solemn,
“I don’t know young child.”

“Where are you going?”
The child asks innocently clear
Giving the old man no rest.
“Somewhere else!” the man replies,
Hardly politely, but rudely spoken.
“Somewhere else.” He repeats,
This time looking at the child
Somewhat in bewilderment, a mystery.

And then, the old man asks,
“Why are you here my young lad
All dirtily clad beside this signless road?”
And joy as a bluebird in flight shines
Across the child’s face as he speaks,
“Why... to talk to you.”
And startled and curious, the old man slumps
Back down to look down the road again.

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