That Old River
S
Smoky Hoss
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We might all die of old age
before we get good at living;
too much life has been taken
not enough given -
Floating down that old river
never knowing where we are bound;
listen! to the mighty waters flow...
living has such a sweet-strange sound -
Touch the smooth river banks passing by
sometimes warm, sometimes cold;
and still, it all keeps right on moving
as we floating, can only watch and grow old -
Along the way we find
broken docks, and sunken boats;
all declaring, far too many hopes eagerly built
no longer float -
That old River of time
never stops;
washing away the hands (and minds)
of man-made clocks -
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