With glee he sinks his teeth in floured delight,
The roasted beef so tender, and melting cheese so dour,
His eyes alive, and happiness flourishing,
The child so young, knows not a world forlorn.

The rip of meat from shredding teeth,
Pulls away the lunchtime meal, stretching cheese like a broken seal,
His eyes alert, and weathered years showing,
The man now strong, forgets a world forlorn.

Onwards now with finale in sight,
The drink nearly gone, and watch ticking on,
His eyes are weary, his arms reserved,
With age he is slower, but wise from a world forlorn.

Before the finish though, his eyes look up,
So brown they were, but blue they felt,
From Images of life, of love, of glee,
Both golden and grey, he remembers his first bite.

Now with a boyish glow the old man grins,
He takes his last bite and sips his last sip,
He takes a paper and pen, his hat and coat,
And leaves, happy to have lived in a world forlorn.