The rocker's legs creaked against the wooden porch floor
While the old man pondered of days gone by sittin' near the open door.
His dusty saddle, rope and worn out spurs were hung up long ago.
He no longer rode. He could barely walk. He was bent and movin' slow.
His wrinkles lifted upward from a smile and he had a twinkle in his eye
Thinkin' about ropin' and ridin' in days gone by.
He heard the campfire pop and the coyote sing.
He saw a million stars and felt the wind do its thing.
He appeared to be talkin' to his creator, though not a word was said.
It was his way of prayin' with thoughts there in his head.
The radio inside was playing his favorite tune. It was "Amazing Grace."
The old man rocked one final time and died with a smile on his face.
I wrote "Memories" as a tribute to people everywhere who have the opportunity to say good-bye to themselves before they die.