The Old Man's Musings: (I'm not an old man, but this poem decided I had to write it anyway)
Through streams of time the vision flies.
Past years and days forgotten.
You look at me with weathered eyes,
A smile which doesn't soften.
I hold your portrait in my hands,
I study it at leisure.
I note the tightness of your hair,
I'm sure you were a treasure.
My ancestor some have said you were,
A distant mothers son.
A hero in some ancient war
Which no side truly won.
I wonder what you hoped or dreamt
I want to know your past.
I wish that life had been more kind
Or in bronze you had been cast.