The hard man
Now sixty years old
Fights in the square
The cobbles cold
Belly hangs
Scarred features
Head now bald
Knowing nothingelse
Except his pride
Pathetic in decline.
The puffing, panting
Blood pressure high
Filled with drink
Beneath sunny skies
I would rather
Be gentle kind
Play with my grandkids
In my decline.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: September 1st, 2025 02:54
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 16
Offline)
Comments1
A poem that reflects choices we have to make that determine our future. Nicely worded
much appreciated, thanking you
Most welcome
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