Buried Treasure

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The pen

in the

hands

of the

old man

 

Hands

light and spotted

as

long-forgotten

ancient scrolls

on a

dusty shelf

 

Hands

that will soon

crumble to pieces

in

time’s cruel crucible

 

He takes

his thoughts

and

writes them down

 

They are as

stones

in the path

to mark his life

and its

passing

 

His pages

become much like

his crumbling

hands,

long-forgotten

until

 

A curious mind

plucks his thoughts

like ripe berries

from the dusty

 

© Alfred W. Smith Jr. 2015

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