The old man with
Ashen colored hair, like
Foam atop ocean waves,
Weary face, and tanned hands,
Wrinkled by work and sun,
Sits on a misshapen ocean tossed
Tree limb observing long past
Memories, and envisioning
Ghosts of the vanishing past
Echoing atop the oceans waves
Crashing onto the shore.
His mind is drifting into obscurity
Like the outgoing tide is drifting
Away from the sandy beach:
He faintly recalls being with
Loved ones sitting on warm sand
On a balmy summer day like today:
Then suddenly the vision fades, and
He senses, as he sits alone watching
The Ocean’s tide, come, and go that his
Years are ebbing way. And as the sun
Sinks into the blazing horizon beyond
The sight of sea, he becomes aware
That like the never-ending tide, his
Breathe of life is quickly drifting away
Into the horizon.
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Amarillo Bay 