I met an old man at an old park.
The surrounding buildings architecturally from a distant past.
While not out of place, it seemed to me he had lost his heart,
With all the old buildings being torn apart.
He looked around and had an affinity for the bronze statues,
Of great ancient monuments and men that stood before him.
Glaring at those sculptures of ANZACs and Gods,
Apollo and Archibald, above the water ageless
together as one.
Yet to me, he seemed so lonely.
his soft sunken eyes confused,
For the new world left him a fool.
And in my view, there was nothing he could do.
I think he pondered if his time had come,
Wondering if the old church bell chimes had begun.
Whether they were calling his name,
Knowing his age meant he could not run
Knowing his time will have to come.
What me as a young girl thought,
As I watched asphodel growth
Encapsulate him, as he strolled on.
I felt so much sorrow as I watched him pass on.
And sadly, the next time I walked past that place,
Where the wilting trees were the only thing his age.
I never ever saw his face
Looking at any of those bronze statues
Of great ancient men since.
