Theres a button
On his collar missing
Theres mist
within in his eyes.
Hes 81 years old
He still has tears to cry.
His hands still bear callouses
From every house he built
His health now fading
In lifes Winter there is guilt.
Hes an old man
Who cant let go
He wants life not to stop
But the ragged vine
It dies
Ready for Springs new crop.
Its as if his achievements
Have been forgotten
Lost to time
He knows hes being greedy
Because old men
They must die.