Each Man's Book
Posted: Sun Apr 13, 2014 12:29 am
Trying to get myself back into writing, but it isn't happening!!
But did write this last year - returning to work in aged care must have stirred the creative juices just a little!! Just wish it would do a bit more!
Each Mans Book
© Irene Conner
02.09.13
There’s a tear within each weathered crease,
a smile and laughter too.
There’s worry born of troubled times,
And yes, there’s been a few.
There’s pain within each furrowed groove
Carved by a cruel knife;
By God’s crayon, they’re etched upon
The canvas of his life.
There’s a strength behind those shrunken eyes
Belied by frail form;
Resilience that’s bent and swayed
Through lifes’ chaotic storm.
There’s courage as he’s mourned the loss
Of his once active role –
You can’t subdue what’s peeking through
The windows of his soul.
There are loving hands that cradled once
A daughters broken heart;
A font of wisdom always full
Of knowledge he’d impart.
There’s history that lies within
His shattered earthly shell;
A lovers face; a fathers grace;
A spirit age won’t quell.
There’s a thousand men like him, I know,
Lie broken in their bed;
A thousand men who walk the path
That no man wants to tread.
And each man has a gift to share
with those who care to look;
At any age, there’s still a page
To read in each man’s book.
But did write this last year - returning to work in aged care must have stirred the creative juices just a little!! Just wish it would do a bit more!
Each Mans Book
© Irene Conner
02.09.13
There’s a tear within each weathered crease,
a smile and laughter too.
There’s worry born of troubled times,
And yes, there’s been a few.
There’s pain within each furrowed groove
Carved by a cruel knife;
By God’s crayon, they’re etched upon
The canvas of his life.
There’s a strength behind those shrunken eyes
Belied by frail form;
Resilience that’s bent and swayed
Through lifes’ chaotic storm.
There’s courage as he’s mourned the loss
Of his once active role –
You can’t subdue what’s peeking through
The windows of his soul.
There are loving hands that cradled once
A daughters broken heart;
A font of wisdom always full
Of knowledge he’d impart.
There’s history that lies within
His shattered earthly shell;
A lovers face; a fathers grace;
A spirit age won’t quell.
There’s a thousand men like him, I know,
Lie broken in their bed;
A thousand men who walk the path
That no man wants to tread.
And each man has a gift to share
with those who care to look;
At any age, there’s still a page
To read in each man’s book.