By the time I got to see him
He was an old man grey hair
Thinly combed across his head
Still loquacious, bending over
Stewed apples gathered from
A wind swept garden of falls.

A proud collector of knowledge
Across boundaries and wisdom
Stretching age ‘youthfully ‘at gate,
City centre and poetry recitals  
With copies of books for selling.

Love Maryxxx