The Little Old Man

With his back bent over and his crooked little cane
I watched him hobble by as if he was in pain

This ancient little man, I’ve seen for many years
But today as I watched him, I fought back the tears

My feelings were of pity and a deep sense of loss
Will this be me some day, a sliver of the past

Who is he, I wondered, what has he been and done
What are his lost memories, what battles had he won

The more I thought about him, the more my sadness grew
This relic of yester-year, was once just like me too

How many are his sorrows, what glories had he known
And what of his achievements, who has he called his own

Questions unanswered, things I’ll never know
As I stared at his wrinkled face, I began to see my own

Just who am I really, how well am I known
Who will remember me, when I am old and worn

Friends I now have plenty and lots of relatives too
Lovers past and present, I’ve had me quite a few

But who will be there later, will I be talked about
When the fire in me grows weak and the sands of time run out

Who will remember me, as I am today
In the heyday of my youth, when time has slipped away

I began to look at this old man, much different than before
And the respect that I felt, was due to him for sure

As he hobbled by he turned and looked at me and smiled
And I swear I heard him thinking, I used to be that guy….