An Octogenarian Jogger Poem by Francis Duggan

What hair he has left on his head it is gray
But for one of eighty four he is looking okay
And to the father of time respect he doesn't pay
He jogs for an hour in the park every day.

He jogs in all weather rain, wind, hail or snow
And as one would expect his fastest pace is slow
The aged great grandfather six decades past his prime
But he will not surrender to the father of time.

An aged war veteran 'tis true what they say
Old soldiers don't die they merely fade away
Perhaps he doesn't feel that his best days are gone
'Til the reaper claims him he will keep jogging on.

Though young boys laugh at him and dogs at him bark
It is his addiction to jog in the park
For one of his age he is full of elan
In his mind he doesn't feel he's an old man.

The strain of hard exercise shows on his thin wrinkled face
And he trains as a young man would train for a race
He runs for an hour or more at his fastest pace
And love of his addiction he seems to embrace.