Old man, glum in your old faded blue suit,

Step by step silently trekking back home

Before dusk falls, impeding your return.


Always to be back there before sundown;

A time when pretty ladies self adorn,

Ready to meet earth’s latest vibrant men.


Your high youthfulness predictably waned,

Fresh vibes, zest and exuberance now found

With the young; by them distinctly displayed.


Your sprightly self vanquished as Chief Ageing

Invaded. Your dark hair that hadn’t turned gray

Soon did. Your sight: an eagle’s no longer.


Night blind, seeing only fellow day strollers

Most of whom your dying eyes have seen enough

And as you’ve become, so have they: night blind.


Certainly soon stone-blind to lead your way

Even by day. Dull to dark, a dark world;

Blinded from its latest beautiful girls.


What are you looking for?