Old Gray Men and Another Time

Old gray men huddle around yesterdays fire staring at the ashes of their past.

Their hands extended seeking the warmth of yesterday; somber reminders that nothing last.

A north wind chillingly whispers ever so softly through the South Georgia pines.

And the old gray men still sit staring at the white cold ashes of another day and time.

Far away the lonesome whistle of the southbound 47 sings its distant serenade.

One by one the old men rise shuffling towards the tracks on the Eastern glade.

Hunched and worn they amble beneath the starless ink black sky.

They leave behind no trace that they we even there, save that of yesterdays fire and the white cold ashes of another day and time.

J. Allen Wilson © 1/4/2009

www.Jallenwilson.com

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