man, my neighbor,
is a wry fellow, a little
on the distant
side.
quiet, but friendly,
all at the same
time.
he nods, instead of
waves,
as he rakes his yard
the fiftieth time
in living here.
few words
leave him, he's
content with where
he's at, what he's
done with his life.
he's seen his children
grow,
the neighbor's children.
he's seen death
and dying.
he's had his share
of love,
of sun and ice.
he's good with a nod,
a tip of hat.
a smile, then back
to raking
the fallen leaves,
for him that will suffice.
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