He never thought he was old, unless reminded
He thought age was a number, he never counted
He was alive; some people are a long time dead
He had all his wits that he never doubted
He took what he needed from the past
Some things were good, made to last
Others best not mentioned,
It was never his intention to make people sad,
He’d talk about the better days he’d had
Days of hope and optimism when he was a lad
A man about town, with a happy weathered face
Sitting on a bench in his usual place
Most days he’d speak to passers by
Giving his opinions, lending a listening ear, a watchful eye
A welcome presence everywhere he went
Discussing politics and philosophy intelligently
Though his back was bent he went his merry way,
A powerful force, yet always finding something kind to say
Until fate steered him on a different course
His roller coaster life morphed into a slide
Gone his independence, he had to stay inside
He never thought he was old until someone said
He thought age was a number, he never counted
He was so alive; some people are a long time dead