Passing of Time

He stares out unto the white-capped seas,
  trying to grasp his fleeting thoughts.
Lantana sculptured by incessant winds,
  surround him amongst mossy rocks.

Turning his eyes to the frigate birds,
  jousting in winds on high.
He sees the setting sun,
  and knows dusk is  nigh.

His lonely silhouette,
  slowly stands against skies of gray.
With wrinkled hands of passing time, clutches his lapel,
  keeping out an evening chill, he slowly walks away...