What do you see, people, what do you see?
What are you thinking, when you look at me?
Do you see a grouchy old man, reading my book?
Lonely on the doorstep, drinking my beer.
Is that what you're thinking, is that what you see?
Then open your eyes; you're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am as I sit here so still!
At 20 I have wings for feet and fly like a bird
At 30 my dreams of love,
Bound to each other with ties that should last.
At 50 I contemplate the future alone.
At 60 I think of the years, the loves I have known,
A life that passed me by.
What do you see when
I struggle on my zimmer frame
To buy my Bulmers ?
So you see a body broken,
A man of poor character.
Well let me tell you this,
Inside this lumbered body, lives a young mans heart,
And now and again my battered heart swells.
I remember the pleasure and the pain,
I think of the years all too few – gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people, open and see,
Not a sad old man, LOOK CLOSER, SEE ME
A man of memories and dreams,
A Life story to tell.
*Paddy lived alone in a cottage on the lane way close to my avenue. He sat outside his front door everyday, drinking his bulmers and reading his book, watching the world go by. I spoke to him each day when I walked the dogs, just for a short few minutes. He died suddenly last week, from a heart attack, right outside my home, the ambulance came, I knew he was dead. Now as I walk the dogs I see his front green door shut and I miss Paddy sitting outside sharing the few words we did. His brother came to lock up his tiny cottage. This is an ode to his life.*
