Late Sunday Afternoon

It is so sad to see a once vibrant and vital building fall into slow decay. I suppose the same could be said of all of us. Like the things we build, time runs short on us all. The historic waterfront of a nearby village is a testament to the limited life spans of all things made of wood and bone. But as the song suggests, what once was dead can live again, just as the twilight of every late Sunday afternoon is followed by a new week.

Shadows cross the street, late Sunday afternoon.

The color of youth fades from us all too soon.

Purposeful life with thoughts he could feel,

now empty rooms paint starting to peel.

Kid in the street, now an old man in despair.

We turn away as if he's not there.

Sun sets on an old building in need of repair.

Lock the place down, take our business elsewhere.

Cracks in the brick, weeds climb up the wall.

Crowds in the street now hard to recall.

Echoes of silence in the afternoon sun.

An overwhelming sadness for what he once was.

Just bittersweet memories from a life now retired.

Tears of loneliness once the laughter expired.

Living for the moment, now living in the past.

Late Sunday afternoon of his life at long last.

Could there be life after death for this building of yore?

A timeless beauty without age no youth could ignore.

A restoration for which no coat of paint can supply.

Look to the forgotten past for a future blue sky.

Wisdom and knowledge this weathered frame does conceal.

Compassion with interest will soon serve to reveal.

Listen to the old man play his signature tune.

Come back to what was on a late Sunday afternoon.