The Old Man's Poem Poem by James Smith

Perhaps another year or two would almost
Do but three or four, or dare I say,
Maybe more?
Depends a bit on what it's like.


Maybe on my own? Doesn't sound like home
With more pain in knees and hips and
Legs and feet and worse in hands
Not so neat.

I start to add up the possible no's
No garden no painting no piano
No visitors no visits no open door,
Not much to keep on going for.

'No aim, such a shame, he gave up trying
You see but no one really met him.
Socially not much use, bit of a recluse.
Although it springs to mind he was kind
To those he knew, although they were few'.