Old Ben

Old Ben could be found .
Most any time
Sitting on his favorite stump
There by the river’s edge
Whiling away the hours,
Strumming his twelve string,
Singing a song,
And waiting for
The fish to bite.
He was apparently retired
And had a cabin nearby.
He never talked about
What he used to do,
But he sure seemed happy
Not doing whatever it was
That he did before.
He sang mainly river ballads,
Songs that told a story,
And melancholy tunes
Of long ago times.
There was a peace about him,
A contentment with life
That came out in his music.
I, who had no patience for fishing,
Could spend hours
Sitting there listening to his songs.