An Old Man Looks Out

An old man looks out
across a dry plain,
searching the fallow fields
for sprouting rows of fresh faces
who hear the taunts of his time
and tell themselves
this is not their song,
who smell the putrid stench
of rotting ideals and turn away
to sniff sweeter perfume
than the rank odor
of yesterday's politics,
who taste the bitter bile
belched up from the depths of war
and shake their heads,
saddened by their fathers' stupidity,
who feel for their fellow man
and aren't afraid to say so,
whose eyes are not blurred
like his were.