Three old men
are sitting together
reminiscing on times
when things were better.
All but one has lost his wife,
the other two commiserate
with him about his strife.
Three large whiskies
are placed before them,
slowly they let them back
then wonder what
they have become.
Is it just them that now think
that life is superficial,
that there is nothing real
and all the people are artificial.
Three pairs of sad eyes
that are filled with regret
for not getting their due
after all their toil and sweat.
Now they look at the
younger generation
who think that the world
owes them a living.
Shaking their heads
and scratching their chins,
they muse if only life
was that forgiving.
