The old man

Once upon a time
There lived a nice old man
He was a kind wee soul
I knew him through my nan.

Then one day he died
And I couldn’t help but wonder
If that was me that left
Would I miss the thunder?

Or the warmth of the sun
As I lay upon the grass
Would people sit and chat
Say I was a lovely lass?

Am I being selfish
For thinking of my life?
Especially since he left behind
A lonely, grieving wife.

I cannot help but think
What it must be like
To never feel again
To never ride my bike

Or watch my family smile
As they laugh and drink
To never see their faces
Or laugh at a cheeky wink.