Bowed With Grace Poem by Dorothy (Alves) Holmes

His silver head is bowed,
His shoulders bent with the age of time.
Tobacco stained teeth tightly grip his
Corn cob pipe.
He wobbles slowly on metal canes,
One for each hand, they have become
His extra legs.
This club was his favorite place to visit with
Old friends and new acquaintances.
Someone drops a coin in the juke box;
When the music begins, he sways in slow
Motion to the melody.

As the music swells, he moves just a little faster
The people urging him on.
For a moment he forgets and claps his hands,
Losing his extra legs.
As he falls, the music plays on louder he thinks
Some in the crowded bar laugh, a few rush to
Help him up steading him on the canes.
He swayed just a little and thanked those who
Helped him for their kindness.
Some tease him to dance again, he smiles and turns
To leave.

He stops at the door and says in a strong voice,
'The hands of time are ticking, ' dance while you can on your own,
I was young once too!
His gait is slow, his head slightly moving to the
Music's beat.
He pauses again and nods to the crowd, face beaming as
He pushes through the door.

Dorothy Alves Holmes