The first man I met in the morning

Was old, sitting at the door, yawning

As I went for my morning walk

I saw his fragile figure, thin and dark

Once strong, agile, glowing human

Now wrinkled, shrinked, aged  man

Done his duties, fought his battle

Tired, withered, dry eyes, shriveled 

Faced hardships, struggled, battered heart

Slippers at side, thinking for long

“Will my children take me along?

My body is aching, as if falling apart,

vigor and strength of bones depart

I have a stone where once I had a heart

I may be alone, aloof, shaky and bit sad 

Inside this old carcass, still a young lad !!!”

 I met this luckiest old man, there he sat.











8 Responses

    1. Have I told you before that I was scared of getting old initially. Now of course I have started accepting the truth. The change took place when I started observing how my parents got old year after another. I want them to be strong and fit till they live. It is difficult to see them looking for support who supported you throughout life.

  1. Cool photo and poem – very well done – but a side note is thatched actually looks strong and vibrant to me – guess I recently saw a few old American men who are in rough shape – one with a cane and big med list and whines – ha! And so to me – this guy sitting here – with such flexibility and soft lines had a vibrant feel with years to come – and really good post

  2. your “old man” picture and poem are the perfect close for this visit to your blog. I am so glad that I found this blog…your photos are gorgeous and so full of meaning. 🙂

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  • Andrew Stanley
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