What time is it
	You spend
	In the far world,
	Old Man,
	As you sit,
	Rocking, rocking?
	Where does your sleep
	Take you?  What
	Realms unknown
	Do you explore?
	Some would say
	The journey back
	Has begun,
	And the dull, befuddled
	Senile mumbling
	We hear you speak
	Is your words
	Turned 'round about,
	Showing us
	Their backsides
	As you face
	Your next world.
	Oh, Old Man
	How grand
	If you could speak,
	Could only tell us
	What sights of glory
	You see, now dim, 
	But growing strong
	Day by day.
	If it is for the young
	To sweat and swear
	In this wretched world,
	Then to you
	We must look
	For prophecy.
	You are nearer that Veil
	Which shuts off
	One world from the next,
	And perhaps
	May glimpse
	What lies beyond.
	Turn about!
	Tell us what you see!
	Old Man rocking,
	Rocking silently.


© Fred O'Bryant. All rights reserved.

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