Into the folds of the dress and the mold.
Though he is old and he has no more sense.
You've never heard this, it hasn't been told,
Of the babbling coot: his all-seeing eye.

Drooling over his woodcarving he waits.
The boys find him, his eyes rolling circles.
Old man! Tell us. What's in this box of dates?
Another box, old mans says, just a box.
And within that box? A little boy grates.
Another box, the old man says, just a box.
The boys chatter with glee at what truth sates.
They run off, "Old man ain't crazy! Just old."

Talking to a black bird, the old man sat.
The boys find him: bird nodding agreement.
Old man! Across the sea! How old's old Pat?
A scratch of the chin. "Why, she's fifteen, boys."
The boys, perplexed, walk away; that was that.
"They'll bury him there," old man said. Bird squawks.

Rocking in chair, whistling his old, old tune.
The men find him looking young than ever.
Old man! Been years! Where's the pirate's treasure?
The men drunkenly wait for the magic.
Old man whispers in the ear of the eldest.
Eldest pulls out map; his eyes almost burst.
The men run off as if chasing the sun.

A shovel shakes off its last bead of dirt.
Tears, precious pearls of sorrow, ease burdens.
The men, swathed in finery, mourn for friend.
"Old man!" New eldest asks, "You knew didn't you?"
Old man titters, "I only saw, boys, see?"
New eldest grabs old man. Birds squawk in trees.
Black clouds ooze across the sky overhead.
Winds rattle the old man's house... death rattles.
The men pull new eldest away from there.
Old man drops to ground. He stands up to stare.
The spooked men run off back to their home town.

A black bird swoops onto old man's shoulder.
" 'Twas my box of dates they showed me that day.
Twas my great grandchild Pat who they spoke of.
And 'twas my gold they were all looking for.
My eye only sees what belongs to me!"

The old man sat down in his rocking chair.
In the moonlight, a glimmer of gold eyes,
spoke of a soulless pirate king's riches.