The Old Man At The End Of The Street

 

Poetry Wednesdays5

I am the old man who lives at the end of the street
I walk back and forth trying to see who I can meet
My shoes are so hot from the ground and its heat
So I decided to walk on my hands instead of my feet

I am the old man who lives at the end of the road
I cut my own grass until it looks neatly mowed
Taking the clippings ’round back is a heavy load
I have to watch where I go, to not step on a toad

I am the old man who lives at the end of the boulevard
The house with the white fence and the trimmed yard
I try to keep people off the lawn but it’s hard
That’s why there’s a man at the gate keeping guard

I am the old man who lives at the end of the avenue
From the top of my roof there is a very good view
I can see a construction site and its working crew
They looked hungry so I took them some toad  stew

I am the old man who lives at the end of the route
I often go in with my umbrella before I go out
The hard rain always makes me check my own spout
Because the puddle in my yard gives me a doubt

I am the old man who lives at the end of the court
Don’t look at my nose, ‘less you want to see a wart
It shakes as I sneeze, and I give a long snort
I would win a wart contest, if it were a sport

I am the old man who lives at the end of the drive
The oak tree in my yard has a very large bee hive
I try to swat them but they always stay alive
And the number of stings I have gotten is now five

I am the old man who lives at the end of the way
It’s always hard to go home at the end of the day
But my bed makes me long for the time I can lay
Until when I wake up with my hair in a fray

I am the old man who lives at the end of the trail
From my many years here I have become very frail
The skin on my face sometimes looks way too pale
It’s probably from the food I eat, which is stale

I am the old man who lives at the end of the lane
It’s hard to walk now so I use a long cane
Every step that I take makes my back strain
So instead of walking I’m going to take the train

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