And through those stony eyes
He gazed out of the window
In the month of May.. All he could see
were dead vines and the snow..
King of his house.. The old man
ruled his stick and a crooked chair..
Lit his wooden pipe.. birds had
left the nest that stood in despair..
Memories clouded in those stony eyes
Closed his eyes and cursed..
He shut the window.. and didn’t open
Till the summer passed ..
Still remember The King and his eyes
I saw when I was only ten..
Everyday I pass by his house
But that Window has never opened again !