Every wednesday afternoon
On his bike
The old man goes all alone
And when in the park
He stops his route
He hears the youth shouting out
You can see through his eyes
That something in them reminds
Him of the time he was their age
So he walks to them
And somehow young's start being attached to him
As his tells his stories
From the 1950s
Of how he landed in America
Of when he discovered Africa
Of how he discovered Elvis
On a road trip to Memphis
But most of all
He wants the youth to recall
That they are the ones who hold the future
And he is sure
Every of them is bright
Obviously they will have to fight
But he believes this next generation
Is the fate of the nation
And when he considers his work done
To make this world better when he is gone
He goes back on his bike
And in the park
He goes all alone
Every wednesday afternoon.
YOU ARE READING
tales from the city // vic
Poesiaand in the city full of strangers everyone has its own story filled with tears and laughters their lives stand still in mystery they could be lawyers, doctors or writers we will never know because there people come and go i'd really appreciate...
