TJ (17th June 1958 / England)

The Old One

The Old One stood,
Stock still and staring,
Somewhere between
In-depth contemplation
Of life’s deeper mysteries and meanings,
And intense concentration
Upon some feature or creature
Just a few metres or so from his feet.

His robes were as weather-worn,
Grey, faded and blanched
As the years that furrowed his brow
And had bent his upper back
Into a pronounced, round-shouldered stoop.

He was still there, hours later,
Having moved not a muscle
As if in training for eternity:
A shade only slightly more sombre
Than the shadows of evening,
Falling, more curtain than veil,
Upon the bleak winter landscape
And upon the gnarled, lopped tree
I later found my Old One to be.

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Comments (1)

Nice poem, Tony. I have those Senior Moments as well. Colin J...