The Old Man

Dawn creeps in.
The cock crows,
scratching our heads.

Wondering what just happened.
Embers fading,
ashes flying,
eyes like a smoke filled room.

Morning dies like a flower,
petals dropping to the ground,
shriveled, dry, brown.

Brown, on second thought,
his eyes were brown,
and sparkling like topaz.

Words still gushing from his mouth
like a swarm of angry bees,
the story continues on, and on.

Checking watches,
packing up,
it was time to leave again.

Another night of eerie tall tales,
that no one else could tell quite like he,
and the old man knew them all.