He lived like a hermit,
Kind of gave up on life.
Especially since the death
of his loving wife.
He told everyone,
He'd lost his best friend.
He didn't have the will
To start over again.
He had lots of money,
But, kept it hid.
Buried in a coffee can
With a plastic lid.
He didn't trust bankers
Said they was all crooks.
"I don't like the way
They keep them books."
His children were all grown
And gone somewhere.
It seemed to everyone
Like they didn't care.
He was an old cowboy,
That's all he knew.
There's lots of ranches
And he worked for a few.
When he was younger,
He could ride anything
From a kill crazy mustang,
To a runaway train.
I guess he got to feeling
Pretty bad one day,
He saddled old Jake
And just rode away.
Several hours later,
Jake came home alone.
In a week or so,
We discovered him gone.
A young cowboy
found the old man.
He was laying on a river bank
Face down in the sand.
He turned the old man over
And saw a smile on his face.
I reckon he was happy
To die in that place.
The children all came
To bury their dad.
I figured it was to claim
The money he had.
I never saw a sign
Of sorrow anywhere.
Like I said,
They didn't seem to care.
They went through his possibles
To find the money he hid,
No one ever told them
What the old man did.
They found an old hat
Hanging on the wall,
Some worn out boots,
And old clothes, that was all.
In the years I knew him,
He wasn't a vindictive man
But, his children never did find
That buried coffee can.
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| Writing Prompt |
Write a poem about an old man, fact or fiction. Method of rhyme up to writer, but must rhyme |
Author Notes
An old man and his money.
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