Sunday Stroll

The sitar sings in sky of stone.

An old one walks- but not alone,

His cane steps with him; open Day

Yawns a morning smile, not to betray

To passing youth they pass themselves.

Like dusty books on dusty shelves,

Some day much sooner than they think

They will be set aside... to sink?

Well, so they would now hold the view,

If they would think of him.  A few

leaves on the sidewalk notice more

While breathing less.  Another four

Pass by, one man, three dogs along

To drag him who knows where. A throng,

Then not a throng.  Crisp autumn air

Brings notes the old one heard before- somewhere.

An old one walks--but not alone.

The sitar sings in sky of stone.