A well dressed old man in a dark gray suit,
He wore a freshly pressed shirt and tie.
He sat on a small bench by the river,
Smiling as the waters rolled by.
His eyes were closed as though he slept
Until he looked at me and grinned.
“Sorry young man, I didn’t see you there,”
“I was a boy and was fishing again.”
He patted the seat beside him and said
“You look puzzled, come sit and we’ll talk.”
“When you reach my age you spend lots of time”
“Taking trips back down Memory Walk.”
“I met my wife here on this little bench”
“Almost seventy years ago.”
“I scattered her ashes down on the bank”
“When she finally had to go.”
“I caught my first fish not far from here,”
“And I fished with my dad all the time.”
“But the cholera came and then he died”
“In the summer of thirty nine.”
I must have looked as sad as I felt
For the old man just smiled and said “Son,”
“Don’t fret, because that’s just what life is,”
“It’s good and bad all rolled up into one.”
“Getting old is no trick, it just takes time,”
He said as he stared far away.
“Just remember to slow yourself down and”
“To make a new memory every day.”
The old man smiled and his eyes closed
As he sat and dozed on that bench,
And I heard him whisper as I left,
“I think I’ll go fishing again.”