The Old Man

An old man sits upon the stairs,
A tear falls from his eye.
They keep on falling, one for each
Year that has rolled by.
His wife had died three years ago,
And he's never been the same.
Though he knows it's not his fault,
Still he takes the blame.
Alone in a cold and silent world,
Without his loving wife.
That woman had meant everything
That woman was his life.
His days are filled with fear of death,
His nights are gray and dreary.
Each day he gets a little weaker,
Each night a little weary.
That poor old man died this night,
Alone, and in his bed.
His wifes picture at his breast,
The bible by his head.
His last thought on this cold earth,
Was how he feared this pain.
He didn't expect the sudden bliss
When his wife called out his name.