Treasure Island

K.C. Ford

(crowle)

Old Man


The face is gnarled and full of wear,
The eyes are pools of gathered time,
as frail the body forward leans
extending arm and hand to task,
the feeble grip that lifts the cup
to lips that trembling sip
attempts to pause; to savour taste,
but fingers weak with weight
lower the burden of lifting.
Such is the effort when gravity resists
desire of an old mans pleasure,
Such is the effort when age restricts
the needs of little to enjoy,
and still, we who aspire a ripe old age
realise little of enduring it.

Submitted: Thursday, October 10, 2013
Edited: Friday, January 24, 2014
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Poet's Notes about The Poem

One evening I cut through the park and the side of an old folks home. The light in the window revealed old people sat against the walls of the room. One old man caught my glance and from that this poem came into being...........feedback would be nice if you feel inspired.

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