In Return

I’d pass by him every day,
laughing, shouting, and talking
riding our bikes home from the park
as children often do.

He would sit quietly on the bench
looking a little lonely, and a lot sad,
staring off into space sometimes,
or watching us children prance and play.

One day my friends were gone,
on a happy family holiday,
and I had no one to talk to, to play with,
so I approached that ancient looking man.

“How do you do,” I asked,
fearful he’d turn away,
my heart pounded in my chest
as he turned to me instead.

A slow smile lit his face, and
in a broken voice full of sand
he replied, “Very well, indeed!
Thank you, my dear, for asking!

“Where are your friends,
with whom you prance and play,
delighting me with reminisces
of my younger days long since passed?”

My face spiraled down into a glum look
and I responded in turn,
“They are away, for a holiday
of fun and family in the snow.”

He chuckled low and deep in his throat,
at my sad and pitiful face,
“When you, my dear, are as old as I,
your friends and family are gone.

“You will be thankful, my dear,
for those memories of old:
the long days with your friends
of playing and prancing in the sun,

“And those of your family,
of loving embraces, joyful times,
of holidays, and the most wonderful places.”
He sighed, and patted my hand.

“Do you miss them,”
I asked, hesitant and unsure.
“Every single day,”
he replied, lovingly assured.

My friends returned the very next day,
and we flew to the park on our bikes,
to prance and play under the heat of the sun
happy to be together again.

As we played, the old man watched,
from his park bench seat,
with a little twinkle in his eye
that had never been there before.

And as we rode by him on our way back home,
from the park that afternoon,
my eye caught his, he smiled at me,
and I smiled in return.