as the old man in the park,

watched in silence as the children played.

Their laughter carried softly

on a summers breeze.

While tiny soldiers crawled

through playground drums,

on scarred and wounded knees.

 Little girls all prim and clean,

had tea parties with friends real and unseen.

they talked and giggled,

and talked some more,

they snickered quietly about

the boys and how they were a bore.

This did the old man observe,

For he came here, day after day,

Just to watch the children run and play.

for he is a witness to, the very essence of life.

One that has yet to feel pain, suffering and strife.

Lives untouched by this world of sin.

Souls not yet scarred, and innocent still.

Peace this has brought to this old mans mind,

A soul that has felt all of life pangs,

a soul that has had more than its fill.

Too much suffering had his old eyes seen.

Too many friends had he lost to deaths chill.

In retrospect, to him it all seems,

That life has been one long unending dream.

Hence now the unspeakable joy he now receives,

As he watches and smiles at the children,

laughing and playing with things and dreams.

After all if he must confess,

Life has been good to him

For he knows that, the Lord, his life has blessed.

And if he were called home this very day,

He would lie so very still

 and with the closing of his eyes,

See forever and ever in his mind,

The innocent children still at play.

J. Allen Wilson © 2003