Sad Commentary on Aging
Revision
On the corner, of Fifty Seven, Second Avenue, is a blue house, with red and yellow trim.
There's a chimney where you can see the white smoke billowing out into the cold winter's air, layering soot, fallow upon the deep snow.
The old man that lived there, always wore plaid shirts and blue jeans; children out playing, their cheeks all pink and rosy, were witnesses to his changes, his increasing anger and bellowing when they would all run across his front yard. They thought it fun, and giggled and laughed at him cause he was old and slow.
Until last Wednesday when he shot Billy Prescott's red haired head off with a shotgun.
Now the old man's in prison and the white snow's all red, and the children, they're catatonic and kept in their bed.
revised 25 July, 2009 © Steve Pray
Original
There's a house there on the corner of Fifty Seven, Second Avenue.
It's a blue one with red and yellow trim.
It has a chimney where you can see the white smoke billows out into the cold winter's air. Layering soot, fallow upon the deep snow.
Children were out playing, their cheeks all pink and rosy.
They were witnesses to the changes in the old man that lived there; he always wore plaid shirts and blue jeans, hollering when they would all run across his front yard. They thought it fun, and giggled and laughed at him cause he was old and slow.
Until last Wednesday when he shot Billy Prescott's red haired head off with a shotgun.
Now the old man's in prison and the white snow's all red; and the children, they're catatonic and kept in their bed.
5 July 2009 © Steve Pray
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