An Old man passes my hut every day.
I can tell he’s walked a long way.
His spine is crooked with age.
His walking stick knows the whole village.
He flashes a smile beneath his wrinkles.
In his youth he must have had some dimples.
He sees his yesterday in me.
I see my tomorrow in him.
The Old man is wise.
He masks his pain in disguise.
I offer him a keg of wine.
He says he’s had his time.
I offer water for wine.
Now he asks ‘Who am I?’.
I take my time and reply.
You’re an old man who’s past his prime.
An Old man passes my hut every day.
I can tell he’s come a long way.
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