I see your shadow
As it flickers
Along the length
Of a wooden fence
The sound of
The walking stick
Hits concrete hard
Within its self.
A newspaper
Tucked underarm
Hair uncombed
A message sent
You are alone
In twilight years
Merely existing
Years now spent.
A lean to the left
Upon your shuffled step
Eyes that stare ahead
In solitude is kept
Within a morning
Thoughts kept at bay
An old man lost within
Years that slipped away.