“How much longer until he’s dead?”

The old man’s birthday was over.

Three large buzzards circled overhead.

Those dirty birds contemplatin’,

How much longer until he’s dead?


The trio didn’t take notice,

as their prey slowly walked outside.

A Colt with six shiny bullets.

Winchester shotgun at his side.


Although the old man was quite aged.

Sixty-six years to be exact.

His eyes were sharp like an eagle.

He could shoot the head off a bat.


As the buzzards came down lower,

sizing up their potential meal.

A burst of hot lead and pellets,

made them suddenly squawk and squeal.


Three neck bones now lie on a hilltop,

as testament to the deceased.

The old man now sits and ponders,

Just what will his next birthday bring? 🙂

* The meaning of this poem is quite simple. There comes a time in our lives when we have to try a wee bit harder in keeping the buzzards away. Following our doctor’s advice in getting flu and pneumonia immunizations each fall is one way. Proper exercise and diet is another. Foremost in my making it one more year, is trusting that my Lord & Savior, Jesus Christ, will lead me there.

Author: michaeldexterhankins

ordinary average guy

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