Marking the grass

Marking the grass

Occasionally I see people haymaking on the roadside

I feel close but distant

I think of a time when my father was just like me at my present age

Driving a horse-drawn cart at night

The cart carried grass and me, and the moonlight washed in water

Now, the horse-drawn cart is gone

The grass and my father are both old and decrepit

We are both living in a foreign town

He collects scraps to make ends meet

I don't drink, but I live a drunken life

The time that once was, the time that once was, has just slipped away

The people and things that used to be there are just getting colder and colder