Dying Embers

The old man, he sits all alone in the corner
Staring into a fire, that’s barely aglow
The ashes are piling, the flame leaps no longer
And he dreams of his youth and of days long ago

A tear leaves his eye as he looks at his frail hands
Was it really these fingers that danced o’er the keys?
To pick out a Jigs or the Reels and the Hornpipes
Or accompany an old favourite song with such ease

Oh, where have the years gone; they flitted so quickly
Like the days in the season of winter it seems
Yet time never enters the mind of a young man
Except for the future; the plans and the dreams

Where are the young men that he had his first drink with?
And where are the young girls that clung to his arm
From which of them was it, that he stole his first kiss?
Did he ever have sharp mind or quick wits and charm?

They say it is good to look back on old memories
That must have said by a young man, he thinks
For they can’t know the pain, that an old mind can conjure
To go back o’er the chain and relive every link