He sits in his chair by the window,
And watches the children at play,
He listens to their carefree laughter
And in it is carried away,
Back to the days in his memory,
And oh, its music is sweet,
Before the days when he’s simply
The old man who lives down the street
Once he was that boy on the sidewalk
Full of vigor and vim,
He recalls happy hours on the ball-field,
Playing ‘til daylight grew dim,
And the laughter that drifts through the window
Could well be his friends as they’d meet,
Never dreaming that someday he’d just be
The old man who lives down the street
He watches the faces of young love
As arm in arm they go strolling by,
And, as he smiles in wistful reflection
A teardrop escapes from his eye,
For he too was once a young lover
With many a girl at his feet,
And his youthful dreams never pictured
An old man who lives down the street
He sees young mothers and daddies
With all of their youngsters in tow,
Their chatter and quarrels and laughter
Are just as it was long ago,
When all of that noise was heaven,
To be busy and weary was sweet,
Now he rocks, alone in the silence,
The old man who lives down the street
Once he was the one who was busy
With a family to feed and to teach,
Bills to pay and dreams to fulfill
With one always out of reach,
The hours and days, they flew by
With many a dead-line to meet,
Too busy to think of an old man
Alone in a house down the street
Now he sits in his chair by the window
To watch all the passers-by,
If you stop you would see he is smiling,
But oft with a tear in his eye,
For everyone is still so busy
With many a dead-line to meet,
And, after-all, he is simply
The old man who lives down the street
All Rights Reserved Sept. 2009
I spoke to an elderly person who said
something that struck me....
"They don't mean to, but people are just
so busy....they forget about us." (shutins)
