His hair looks weak and pure like the grey skies,
He sees the far off distance with his ears
And when he speaks, wisdom and pride come out.
But, when lonely at times, he’ll sit and cry.
“When life was a river of fresh water flowing,
I experienced love, that is now no more.
When life hit me and kicked me out the door,
I awoke and stood then came the hardest blow.”
As I looked at him, I saw his heart of gold,
My father and friend, my mental strength.
Most often he’ll sit, with stories untold,
“My eyes are blind, this world seems so strange,”
old man drunk with age, “Son next is the grave.
Remember to be strong and always be brave.”