Just north of the low hanging oak...

Just north of the low hanging oak...

by Jeremy LeWayne

Just north of the low hanging oak, down the path where the honeysuckles grow,

lives a man losing his mind.

He winds his watch, for he minds the clock, never, not ever, falling behind.

 

Just north of the low hanging oak, down the path where the honeysuckles grow,

stands a cabin wasting away with time.

Though the walls stand tall, they threaten to fall, killing the man inside.

 

Just north of the low hanging oak, down the path where the honeysuckles grow,

where the mail never seems to arrive.

The man, he speaks, but no ears receive, the gold his consciousness hides.

 

Just north of the low hanging oak, down the path where the honeysuckles grow,

where no one bothers to drive.

Alone he remains, feeling nothing will change, until the Reaper calls him next in line.

Author's Note

Just felt like writing and this came out.