Drawing by Moses Lietz
An Old Man’s Whistle
How does the
whistle of an old man prey
the memories
gone day by day.
Whistle no tune
or pattern at all;
Just a song for
his season at fall.
Every exhale
brings into mind
a once
forgotten lovely time.
The macabre
display of life gone short,
The array of
battles won and fought.
How does the
whistle on an old man prey?
Deep into his
mind a love gone away?.
Life is this to
the whistler now.
Life is all but
a whistle, somehow.