The Story Teller

​Upon the bench the old man 

Sits within the park 

Listening to the pigeons coo

From his brown paper

Bag his fingers take the bird

Seed he brings each

And every day to feed his fine

Feathered friends as 

They gather round about and 

Listen to his many 

Tales of tragic love of many 

Battles won and

Some lost thrilling stories of 

Yesteryear now

Gone abandoned by his friends

With each telling 

He relives the past awaits death