The old ones

Elders come from a time

where things were always better

they cling to the branches

of the nostalgia tree ,

sometime stumbling 

on a face lost in the clouds.

The old whisper words 

of forgotten  worlds ,

sometime leaving shreds 

of memento in the  teapot,

contempling tenderly the sweetness

of an inner  shipwreck ,

they become well-behaved children again...

Ancients,leave with their baggage of loneliness

and all those looks that have long since

put them in the past tense ...

Seniors only have weather left ,

always  leaving in the winters of summer.,

dressed in a few  ceremonials , 

adorned with conventional and  the 

sadness of the good dog  

who won't be accompanying 

the procession...

 The door of eternity slowly closing ,

elderly walking along the garden paths 

which falls asleep  ,covered with dead leaves 

 of memory ...