An Old Man

 Walking was an old man limping,
carrying with him was he, his age,
his bitter and sweet memories.

Skinny was his face very,
fed up it was of crying,
tired it was of smiling.

Dull were his little ever-bright eyes,
that had been seeing all the evil,
had also seen a bit of good.

Deaf were his long ears,
told him which all those bad news,
whispered to him which all those great news.

Weak was his heart,
disappointments it could bear no more,
surprises it could take no longer.

Still carried him, his legs,
as they did all his life,
getting weaker did not matter.

Still smiled his face,
at all those little joys,
getting weaker did not matter.

Still showed him, his eyes,
all those beautiful things,
geeting weaker did not matter.

Still told him, his ears, 
all those wonderful news,
getting weaker did not matter ,

Still beat his heart,
for all those surprises,
getting weaker did not matter for it tooo.

Lost hope did he never,
sweet memories exhausted never,
smile never grew shorter.

Does not smile back to him,
now does the world,
does not whisper to him now.

Ears struggle to get good news,
even when shouts turned whispers,
and whispers into unbroken silences.

Eyes struggle to show him beauty,
even when sun looks like moon
and moon never appears.

Heart struggles to beat,
even when the world does not surprise,
when death's the only surprise.

The world may not care,
his body does,
live he will till it does...