Paging Nigel Rogers by John Ahlschwede
 
Is he standing outside, soaked to the bone,
Or walking through a Texas strip mall?
Is he living in a shady grove, all alone;
Or moving with the harvest through the fall?

I used to see him back when he was in school,
He used to ride his bike down my street,
He used to date and party and play the fool,
And smile at me when we would meet.

I haven't seen him for twenty years.
He may be hurt or ill or dead.
He may be hounded by his fears.
He may hear voices in his head.

What is he doing, as he walks through life?
Is he doing very well?  Is he lonely too?
Are your hours happy?  Are they filled with strife?
Nigel Rogers, where are you?
 
 
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