Down Boekeloo Road
By Don Phelan
Copyright 2011 Don Phelan
Smashwords Edition
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My daughters' grandfathers were both once robust, vital men who served our nation in war and eventually succumbed to the ravages of aging. This piece is dedicated to all men who have traveled the same path. May our children always remember their sacrifice. May my daughters always be grateful for the freedom their grandfathers ensured.
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Down Boekeloo Road
His hero's welcome is long forgotten
for his courage in battles untolled.
The townspeople know him now only
as the old man down Boekeloo Road.
Sunrise burns through the mist of the morning
as Lady Slippers put on their show.
The woodlands awaken unnoticed
by the man down Boekeloo Road.
His chest, once beribboned, is sunken
under shoulders left rounded and bowed.
The weight of the world is no longer his burden
as he wanders down Boekeloo Road.
His descent into darkness is unceasing,
his wit and his conjuring slow,
no more come moments of brilliance
from the man down Boekeloo Road.
His madness complete, fingers cramping and curled,
his skin bluish grey, he is bone-weary cold.
He grips his last friend, his shillelagh
and sees the end of Boekeloo Road.