Twilight of My Life
An old man came up to me one day,
with a twitch in his eyes,
no teeth in his mouth,
and a three-day old beard.
He wore beat-up, old khaki pants,
patch-worked several times,
and an old jacket with no pockets,
wearing a faded cap.
But you could tell by looking at him,
he had had his better days;
for though he looked rough,
but his step was lively, purposeful.
I was sitting under a tree,
plucking blades of fresh-smelling grass,
casting them to their own fated landing,
when I felt a shadow encroach my space.
It was the shadow, so huge,
the rest of him, you already know.
Just passing through, he said,
but had to stop, said he.
That look in your eye I’ve had myself,
and I know you’ve lost someone close,
someone you can’t replace, he said.
I asked, how could you know?
Simple, he said, I’ve been there,
but let me tell you this;
if you love her as much as it looks to me,
don’t be or feel sad.
Hell, he said, that’s what keeps me going.
The old man grinned his toothless grin,
straightened himself taller than imagined,
saying it was time to be going,
and he turned and walked away.
I watched him walk away,
until he simply vanished.