OLD SONGS AND TEARS

Outside from a hundred feet high
a cold rain drips from sentinel oaks
beneath a dull gray winter sky
while starlings laugh at birdy jokes.
My mind wanders while the time tics by.

Each drop which taps my roof of tin
seems to reverse the passing time
and washes away one more sin
letting me peer through the grime
to times and places I have been.

I loose my eyes then close my eyes
and float back to my younger years.
Then to my complete surprise
my weathered eyes fill up with tears.
as old songs and memories arise.

I cry for singers who are gone
who filled my youth with all their song
who came when I'd turn the rain on.
The fact they're gone seems somehow wrong
nevermore to see another dawn.

But it might not be the music
which brings dampness to my eyes of green.
Perhaps it's the visuals' constant flick
of loved ones resting beneath the green
in their vaults of strong red brick.

But in a flash of blinding clarity
realization strikes like white lightning
Old songs which so sadden me
when those passed old singers sing
reminds me of youth which fled me.