An old man wanders down the road.
built by his fathers. He looks for a
place to rest for the last time.
he has a story to tell, as all old men
do. But he has no younglad to tell.
nor will he speak it at all. I will tell
it, as he has long forrgotten words
and their meanings. HIs story begins
with his birth, all good stories
do, His birth however is meaningful
to every child of man. He was the
last child. One day young boys
knew no younger boys, men had
no sons, women had no daughters.
He lived a lonely world. without
compainion for fourty years, that is
something has has grown to live with.
But never known. he never knew how to
read or write. he once could count
his fingers and toes but all he can
muster in his last day is one, two three
as he lays his old head in the tall grass,
he does not wonder, regret, or suffer.
he has had his share of those.
Josia, looked up at the night sky
where stars did not shine for
a lenght of time. Where few
animals strayed. He laid there
asleep for the last time, breathing
the last breaths of man.