The cinders had sharp edges, to the light touch
But feeling them too hard, they turned to black dust.
Too close to the fire, brought on by the long drought.
Blackened and bone dry, the life had all dried out
As we grow older, more sharp edges appear
We chase others away, so not to get near.
Hearts turn to small figs old bones dry out too
Heat from a different source we become blue
When you pass old grumpy people throughout your day
Push them aside, warn them, “Get out of the way!”
Hose them down, tell them, “I’ve got a life too!”
“I’ll give you a reason, reasons to turn blue!”
© 2011 Michael Yost
Michael's Lair 