The Circle

By Chris Commodore © 2004

When I was young and he was man,
We relished company and joy.
No pleasure ever greater than,
Now I am man and he is boy.

The pastimes of the average lad,
Like playing ball and catching fish,
The childhood things that make one glad,
Right now for him are but just wish.

And now he sighs and counts the rain,
And watches girls and boys at play.
Recycling young thoughts in his brain,
Of games enjoyed just yesterday.

This journey's offered at no cost,
One lives in trust, but parts in hope.
Each winner’s prize a mound of dust,
A daunting trophy; that’s the scope.