Memories Of A Lost Art

"Memories of a lost art"

** RIP Michael Watson. Who always sat outside reading for all the years I've lived where I do. I will always miss you **

It was repetitive and predictable.
To see you sitting there.
You were always just reading in your chair.

Year after year, it was always the same.
We did have our conversations,
While we all played outside.

You were always there telling us to be safe,
Protecting us nonetheless,
Even if we disobeyed.

But then we grew older,
Stopped running around outside.
So we didn't see much of you,
Even if you stayed behind.

Now and then I would see you and say "hi"
No more long conversations when I'm passing by.
I saw you just the other day while I walked to the store.
You asked where I was going,
I just replied and kept walking.

I regret the fact that I didn't say nothing more.
I could have asked how you were doing.
And what book are you reading now?

Now I look out my window and see the porch light off.
That chair that you sat on, sits alone.
For 12 years that chair was always filled.
The light was always on.
As you sat there reading.
But now I look out my window, I see nothing more at all.

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This poem is about the same person in this other poem I wrote. They both tie in with each other.

http://www.poems-and-quotes.com/sad/poems.php?id=1056032