Classic Poem

" But why did he do it, Grandpa? " I said
to the old man sitting under the cedar,
who had come a long way to that place, and that time
when that younger man lay down in the hay

to arrange himself. And now the old man
lifted his head to stare at me.
" It's one of those things, " he said, and stopped.
" What things? " I said. And he said: " Son —

" son, one of those things you never know. "
" But there must be a why , " I said. Then he
said: " Folks — yes, folks, they up and die. "
" But, Grandpa — " I said. And he: " They die. "

Said: " Yes, by God, and I've seen 'em die.
I've seen 'em die and I've seen 'em dead.
I've seen 'em die hot and seen 'em die cold.
Hot lead and cold steel — " The words, they stopped.

The mouth closed up. The eyes looked away.
Beyond the lawn where the fennel throve,
beyond the fence where the whitewash peeled,
beyond the cedars along the lane,

the eyes fixed. The land, in sunlight,
swam, with the meadow the color of rust,
and distance the blue of Time, and nothing —
oh, nothing — would ever happen, and

in the silence my breath did not happen. But
the eyes, they happened, they found me, I
stood there and waited. " Dying, " he said,
" hell, dying's a thing any fool can do. "

" But what made him do it? " I said, again.
Then wished I hadn't, for he stared at me.
He stared at me as though I weren't there,
or as though I were dead, or had never been born,

and I felt like dandelion fuzz blown away,
or a word you'd once heard but never could spell,
or only an empty hole in the air.
From the cedar shade his eyes burned red.

Darker than shade, his mouth opened then.
Spit was pink on his lips, I saw the tongue move
beyond the old teeth, in the dark of his head.
It moved in that dark. Then, " Son — " the tongue said.

" For some folks the world gets too much, " it said.
In that dark, the tongue moved. " For some folks, " it said.