Old John Parker staying up late
Sitting by his garden gate
days of laughter and of tears
Turning into falling years gone by
what does he know
what can he tell
of the things he's known
of the things he's seen what the reason for living has been
the brown suit he wears is so patched at the knee
and the stick that he leans on's far older than me
the frost of his age shining white in his hair
and his eyes are alive with knowing
but he's so far away and he's happy that way
with his dog and the world that he knows so well
just what he's thinking,
no one can tell
Old John Parker dressed in black
for Sunday church, walks there and back
clouds above him line the sky
and Autumn leaves turning slowly by
what does he know
what can he tell
of the things he's known
of the things he's seen what the reason for living has been
in the summer he dozes and sits in the sun
with his thumbs in the book, he has never begun
his Garden around him and things to be done,
but he's happy just watching it growing
but he's so far away and he's happy that way
with his dog and the world that he knows so well
just what he's thinking,
no one can tell

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