(Tribute to an old man i knew...he made me who I am today. God Bless his soul.)
I know not what an old man says…
His words are feeble…they dwindle
Like a flickering flame in the twilight.
I know not what an old man sees…
His eyes look so weak and deep
They sometimes turn as white as snow.
I know not what an old man hears…
Shrills and screams mean nothing to him
He remains silent, mute as an iceberg.
I know not what an old man thinks…
He laughs sometimes in an empty room
He says he talks to angels and ghosts.
I know not what an old man is…
For he is old and I am not; I’ll know not
Not till the day I am old.
