Return to: That‘s LifeWhat Passes
The old men in the park have benches that belong to them, by rights of time spent. Shapeless, they sit in their worn grey suits; faces collapsing into soft folds of brown wrinkles. Leathered hands tremble their way through yesterday’s “News”. But, the old men see what passes as we rush by, unaware of their glances. We are filled with the passion of our different dreams. Young men have not yet learned; dreams are always the same. It is only the dreamers who change, into old men in the park. Shirley Alexander © 2006
