My first attempt at poetry. Comments are welcome and highly appreciated.
Little birds all round him
As they sweetly sang their summer song,
In the bliss of the setting sun
His heart in pain.
Not a single glance,
Not a single soul cares
The story of endless struggle
As he waited day and night
Summer and winter, spring and autumn,
The birds left him for the warmth of the south.
Beards round his face
He knows not his name,
He knows not who he is,
He knows not what he waits for,
He sat there
His eyes a story of a once glorious youth.
The years went by,
We ran to the hill one day
He still waits,
But now in his grave.