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A Tribute to the Sun of His Heart's Setting MAG
The cats and dogs pouncing
On the rooftop have come and gone,
Leaving a hazy cirrus stripe
Outside the dusty windowpane.
Peeking, I see through the Earth's soupy steam
An old man I once knew well
Still casting his pole onto the lake's wet skin,
Overalls and the willow he wears
Soaked to the core for he has sat
In his paint-flaking rowboat on the nose of the lake
Since before I was to awake.
I wonder what he thinks about
In his boat every dawn until break,
Sitting still as a statue, his eyes staring
As the bobber floats around
In the blue-green pool of tears.
His light pink fishing hat,
A pop of color in nature's shades,
A tribute to the sun of his heart's setting,
Has not been taken off his head,
Not for church or his land's pledge,
Since that day the killing cancer stole his love away.
That color took his only reason
To ever leave the fish-filled lake,
And because of this his slow-pounding
Heart will incessantly ache,
While I am kept inside with the company
Of the aged photographs, all alone,
My own heart continuing to break.
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