This Old Man Poem by Robert Smith

This old man named Balco
He lived down the stair
With old fashioned trousers
And thinning white hair

He scares me a little
When he bids me good day
I reply a quick 'hi'
And then soon fly away

But there's something about him
Not quite so unpleasant.
He hails from our history
And is lost in our present

He can't keep his feet
On an earth that spins fast
And says he knows not
how much longer he'll last

He beckoned me hither
so I sit beside him
He told me of games
You don't have to plug in

Of leaping and jumping
But not on a team.
And not for a sport
But to live in a dream

To catch and to run and to
Stand brave and true
To hide and reveal
And to flee and pursue

To dive and to soar
And to crash burn and then
to rise and recover
And fly once again

I started to envy
This world that emerged
In my mind, through his stories
Past and present converged

Perhaps a dirt path
May be better than pavement
And fresh air preferred to
Electronic enslavement

Now I see with our progress
Comes a price we must pay
From our soul like a tax
To an age and a day

And may we too be lost
And what will be the toll
When we too like Balco
Are unbalanced and old

When old Balco expires
Will the world lose this song?
From memory to legend to myth
And then gone?

We cannot go backward
To hang not we must hope
Mother nature we know
Gives us plenty of rope

Our children must know
From the moment of birth
What it means to be free
And connected with earth.

This old man
He gave me a gift from the past
Let's see just how long
This great lesson will last.