The Old Man
I met an old man by the road,
Shakingly yet sturdy strode.
Shimmery crown adorned his head
The wrinkled skin ran across embed.
'I am blessed', he said.
' Many are gone', deep laid.
Those eyes brimmed a thousand tales,
Which await the strenuous sails.
His smile made my heart glad,
The past glories in full clad.
Barefoot he plod; the cold doesn't kill
As he mount the steep hill.
The blurry cloud descended.
As I turn back and headed
To the path of fresh trail,
A dint of the old man behold the dale.
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