On languid; indolent river banks grows a sweet cool grass.
The sun hides, then peaks delivering calm warmth to the aged man.
Waters swirl around fallen trees; time grinds on and the old man softly naps.
Dreams fill his slumber; playful things from his youth crowd his fragile mind.
Of ponds and old mill streams he climbed stairways back unto another time.
Lefty was there and Sammy too; the boys of long ago; the friends he once knew.
They never saw the age of twenty-one, they never made it; their fate was not to chance.
Lefty died a POW on German soil and Sammy died on Omaha Beach in France.
Now today in the cool green shade, and old man softly naps.
J. Allen Wilson © 4/2008