I Run Across Them
B
Barry Middleton
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I run across them each and every day:
a man who knows his sun is fading soon,
a guileless child who lingers long at play,
a vagabond beneath the rising moon.
In dark and shadowed valleys of the past,
I follow them in mist and darkest night.
And yet I know this image cannot last;
horizons wait to dampen every light.
Before the dim and distant glow has fled,
the old and weary man returns to home;
a mother puts the restless child to bed;
the lonely vagabond no more will roam.
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