the periodical gnashing of teeth
and withered frail skin
splotched and wrinkly like
dry sheets of crinkled paper
the shuffle of feet
cannot able to cast feat
what once made
that old man smile
shiny brims
and rounded spectacles
the smell of old leather books
clinging in pockets of old folds
the memories tucked away
preciously like rubies and stones
and ivory casts whisking time away
like sail boats speeding down
a storming tidal wave,
the grittiness of sugar
and flour and pumpkin pie
the smell of hardened green wood
this old lady walks down the
flower path
a noon a day
an evening to so say
carrying within her the year of age
and fairy tale visions
once in possible divisions
such prior to her olden age
wisdom welled deep
her days a flashing by
keep on dreaming
she still prevails
so to fight
living her very
last days
in utter
bliss