When an old man gets to thinking and he's rocking in his chair, and he's turning back the pages to a time so sweet'n'fair. Well it is'nt gold he's counting from the profits of the years, nor thinking grand he must have looked, each time he volunteered. He's thinking more of friends he knew and children he helped raise, he's reliving all the moments from the gloriest of days. When he's battled all lifes toils and his bones are weary sore, when he's standing by the window staring out to distant shores. Then his heart is set in grandeur and his riches plain to see, like a knight in shining armor, clad in steel'n'chivalry. He bows to mother nature knowing soon his time shall come,n to leave here now forever so to march to heavens drums. Could we ponder what he's viewing there in his distant, silent mode, we should see a scene of beauty in his silent episode. And on his day of passing, we the young should greatly mourn, and know someday we'll stand like him, so withered and so worn. Just'a'sittin an'a'dreaming of the days when we were young, or standing, dreaming through a window, without a slip refund. Age has a way of stepping forth and claiming all it's rights, it doesn't care 'bout wine'n'song, or if it's day or night. You learn that gold is fleeting, and the memories prevail, and all the dear friends that you love, saved you from a life of hell. And it's only now we realize, the errors of our ways, as we sit there reliving - the gloriest of days. 3/4/02

I kept hearing Bruce Springsteen singing Glory Days, whilst reading this..Nice write Les...

I love the way you write. Thank you!