The Wheel Of Life Poem by Don Winslow

He sat at the head of the Thanksgiving Day table,
Head down, staring at-nothing.
Words of conversation slipping and sliding past him,
He heard not the sounds, he heeded not the words.

“How’s the new job Jim? ”
“Where is Liz going to school next year? ”
Subjects of interest to the young, long ago gone from him.
He said not a word, not a murmur from him.

He is nevermore; 22 years have passed.
I now sit at the head of the Thanksgiving table,
Head down, staring at-nothing.
I say not a word, not a murmur from me.

The wheel is still turning, kin of mine.
Someday, you’ll be at the head of the Thanksgiving Day table.
Head down, staring at -nothing.
He became me, I am he, and thee will be me!