The Call of the Scavenger

Time has carved my face
Softened my eyes
Saddened my smile.
I watch myself
Like a farmer his field.

My land is changing
Soil eroding.
In coming days
I will scarcely remember
Who I was.
I will fade
Like summer grass.

This face
Once caressed, kissed
Now weathered and creased
Like an old saddle
Slung over a ranch rail
Remembers better seasons.

This body
Once companion
To your passion
Is becoming the frame
Of an old man.

But life persists.
There is unfinished work
Unfurrowed acres
Seed unplanted
Harvests ungathered.

The sun is waning
And the call of the scavenger
Is in the trees.

Let the ravens find me planting.