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.