He is an old man now, no longer tall.
Shoulders hang, stoop low, as does his head.
Hair is sparse, hardly covers his scalp.
Teeth are worn, loose, and faintly yellow.
Legs once firm and straight, now bowed and shaky.
Eyes once deepest blue no longer shine.
Often I ask myself, who is this man?
I search his face for some sign, some sign.
Where is the man I knew, when I was young,
Where is the lover, the husband, the friend?
He raises his head, his smile is one that shines,
As does his face at the sound of my voice.
He shows great eagerness to take my hand,
To grasp, to press, to hold tight, a childlike
Grip, with such innocence it breaks my heart.
His eyes, not blue, not grey, but in between,
Like a misty cloud on a summer’s day,
Seek mine, all bewilderment locked within.
Tears spark, as we embrace, no memories
To share now he is an old man — only love.
