Wise old man, all wizened and white,
Walks in watching through dimmed sight.
A staff in hand and golden bell,
For when time’s ripe to resound the knell.
His eyes hold flashes of times gone by,
Good ones, mad ones, laughs and sighs
A mirror are they, to foresee,
What times to come, could (should) be.
A toothless smile on his dear face,
Shall begin to fade as moments race.
Couldn’t hold him back, if you tried,
So everyone danced when he finally died.
Pic: By Kelly Sikkema (From Unsplash)