Henry

The body has betrayed this once hale and hearty man but he still does what he can so what if the crows feet have become crevasses no vanity here he still sasses the kids and kids around with his old cronies, those left And if he's now bereft of sensual pleasure, what does it matter memories of younger days are still embedded in the recesses of his brain Eagle eyes clouded, sensations shrouded he still revels in children's laughter, tilled dark earth and early buds showing with the first spring rain Don't feel sorry for this grey old death-dodging codger he still does what he will no matter if time has had its way nothing to fear the play's the thing, and sorrows and slings are about to exit, stage left