Talking Bones Poem by r james sterzinger

Talking Bones

'Then he said to me, 'Prophesy to these bones and say to them, ‘Dry bones, hear the word of the Lord! ' Ezekiel 37: 4

Third week in May and there
In the yard a white coat
Of Frost, I come down the stairs.

I let out my old dog
Out of the kennel.
He stretches, checks his limbs, like me
We have become old and are
Amazed to see that everything still works.

My wife who is sound asleep
Says: 'Old bones are affected
By the weather changes.'

I am apt to believe that, as I am
Of most things. I know my bones
They creak, they speak to me,
Saying, ' Remember, when you

Played in the fields and down
By the stream and your mother
Was afraid you would fall in
And drown? '

At least that is what they talk
About today. Somedays I am
Told by them of other memories
Some are fond, others not so much.

When we old and alone
When are children are gone
We old folks listen to our bones
They say to us, ' Remember
My friend, you were young.'