Here's one someone I know wrote:
The Narrowed Road.
The old house still stands
'mid the grounds and ancient lands.
Memories of childhood I recall,
through my mind they rise and fall.
The waterfall thunders in the distance
covering the heartbeat of the instant.
River flows, its white foam brewing,
'round the turn,no longer stewing.
Underbrush, now grown all 'round,
tries to cover each cricket sound.
The path once wide has narrowed much,
to find one's way is done by touch.
The correlation of then and now
comes before my sweating brow.
When we were young, the road was wide
to explore our world on life's long ride.
As we near the end of our traveled road,
our story's left and others told.
For eyes are now dim and boby slowed;
there's only touch down this lonely road.
