The Old Man

Old and lonely man, he sits in the park.
Rheumy eyes staring. Lips gently, slowly moving.
To where does he look? To whom does he speak?
No one sees. No one listens. No one cares.

Empty, one day, is the bench. Who mourns the passing?
In no memory does he linger. He is gone.
Forever lost, tales so rich, experience so broad.
A wisdom, that may not, youth perceive.