I heard the old man
I heard the old man
Who lived with his last son
Who at times cursed his father
And the old man cursed back
And complained about his brittle bones
He was once a lecher, people say
In winter he drank a pint a day
In summer he dragged his feet
He had springs of humour ,now dry
Rumours say he had a paramour
Who squeezed him dry and left him
Nothing more than a shell , as shadow
He muttered sitting on the cot
Counting his days on rheumatic fingers
Rolling his dreams back into reams
To prop up his tired head till the last
Building up a dialogue with his self
With a forgotten prologue
And a very uncertain epilogue.
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