the changing fortunes

The old man sits on the bench

By the park under shady trees

The falling leaves floating in his eyes

He knows the types he sees it before

Once you are needed

Everything can be had

There is no question about it

Name the price work hard

The fat paychecks; big bonuses

The envy of friends; the jealousy of enemies

They will lick the boots to get there

The aura of power the command of a word

When the energy snapped

When the ideas flow dead

The reverse of fortunes

The spread of doom

The old man smiles

It lasts while it stays good

Every actor will know the drill

The adulation will not last a time

He looks at the falling leaves

The wind blowing it away like cheap dirt

Nothing to remember only the leftover

For the ground to moisture its nutrients

He closes his eyes and listen

The whispering wind of the wild

He says his prayers now he is out of his time

An old man sitting on the bench