The ragged bone man comes,
And ragged does he stare,
On faces black and bleak,
With sweat and pain and tears.
We run to meet him,
Smiling, blank, and cry,
Forever,
His memories haunt,
His eyes,
Are dark and deepened pools of blank,
In which we swim.
Together,
He leaves and loves,
Or does he?
To wave us, "Goodbye".
Or beckon us, "Come!",
To his land,
Where the ragged, bony, scragged men
Lie bedraggled and broken black,
In ditches.
And dear old time wastes us,
Ragged, scragged, black.
He knocks patiently,
Until we leave,
With him,
Alone.
This poem is an old one written sometime 1986-1990
