Friday, 14 March 2014

Old Man from the Village



That age is not a lessening –
time is not a whittling down
until we’re next to nothing –

that somewhere still
there is the boy who played
on the balcony, found
adventure in the forest;
the young buck who sat
late into the night, sang
for love and supper;
the father, the farmer,
the one who endured.

That age is not a lessening
in the face, the eyes
of an old man from the village.

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