The Mark of Old

Walking on planks of reason
Under moonlit skies in cold;
Treading the waters of uncertaintly
And depriving those that are bold.

I’m watching my world brighten
And my life’s path unfold;
Perhaps tomorrow brings death,
Or bestows a path to old.

Left to prepare my own burial shroud,
I sit and await my fate –
The thunder is calling to me loudly
And the rain has come too late.

©2003 Joe Jenkins