Three

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.