An old man gets to thinking
At the close of the day
Over seasons of life
The footsteps he has made
Oft his brow will wrinkle
Through pain swept memory
Or his eyes will hold a spark
Of love he lost yet won
And in his dreams he walks
Through days we long to know
Yet somehow though we reach
We cannot understand
For when he is thinking
He is once more his own man

For my old man