Old Things

I own an old truck and an old house. Way out far, beneath the blue skies

Where only the elements and I often speak - In a silent back and forth

Un-Aesthetic, displeasing old truck and house - they scoff at us old things

Now, I may not be older than the house - But, I am pretty sure that I am

older than the truck. Are they saying that, I too am old and needs be...

put out to pasture. My knees cry and snap, I groan when I sit or stand.

The house leans and its rickety joints creak when the wind blows

and the shutters are all askew. The truck is rusted, the tires are worn.

But it gets me from point A to point B just fine.

So, between the old truck, the old house and the old version of me

We roam beneath the stars just as happy as can be

Out here where the civilized and shiny modern world

Never comes knocking at my door. I am happy and free

Creaky joints, tilting house, rusted car, fresh air and all.