Hard Times

Leo Lawton

September 25, 2009

Gnarled old man,

rough as an old pine board,

in the sun and the rain and the shadow,

warped by the wind past use forevermore.

Born into a festered world,

where times were tough as leather,

off the shoes stripped from a convict,

layin’ dead on a cold hard prison floor.

Skin all wrinkly,

like it had been rumpled on,

while the burning sun beat down,

on a searing day in the Mojave August.

Calloused stubby fingers,

far below the bony shoulders,

showing through the torn remnant,

of a tattered shirt too far gone to resurrect.

He held her gently,

as she breathed her last.

All he ever had to give was,

hard times, toil, tears, pain, …and love.

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