The Old Man and the Little Girl

The old man slumps in his rocking chair,

his once white coat now a lusterless grey.

It's tattered and worn as the muddied lines on his face;

dulled by time, weathered and pale

as his colourless eyes that once sparkled a starry twinkle.

He remembers his youth.

He smiles with recollection of a time when the world was bright and pure.

He dreams of past days

when children giggled happily in his presence;

and adults, busying themselves in the time,

stopped to look in awe upon his beauty.

He was loved. He was wanted.

But he has worn out his welcome.

The new girl in the neighbourhood,

it is she, who is wanted now.

He watches as she dances on the lawn,

her flowing dress covering the once parched grasses

with vibrant greens and fluffy yellows.

Her floral ribbons cast scents of sweetness and musk.

An invisible bouquet floats in the cool air.

She sings in birdsong,

with notes of swallows and robins and orioles,

accompanied by woodpecker percussion.

She smiles with the warmth of the sun,

and every day she gives a little more.

The old man sheds a tear of melancholy

that stings like road salt on his potholed lips.

Tired now, he’s ready for a long slumber.

He smiles at the little girl on the lawn,

knowing it’s his time to rest, and her time to play.

The world has been yearning for her,

eagerly anticipating the change that comes

when she makes her long-awaited appearance.

They love her now, as they loved him then.

They want her now, as they once wanted him.

They will embrace her joyfully,

this beautiful little girl they call Spring.