Morningside

Morningside

The old man died

And no one cried

They simply turned away
And when he died

He left a table made of nails and pride

And with his hands he carved these words inside

For my children

Morning light

Morning bright

I spent the night

With dreams that make you weep
Morning time

Wash away the sadness from these eyes of mine

For I recall the words the old man signed

For my children

And the legs were shaped with his hands

And the top made of oaken wood

And the children sat around this table
Touched with their laughter

Ah, and that was good

Morningside

An old man died

And no one cried

He surely died alone
And truth is sad

For not a child would claim the gift he had

The words he carved became his epitath

For my children