He was an old man; finely weathered,
and walked with a bit of a limp,
favoring his right leg.
His walk was more a shuffle,
one leg, slow to catch up with the other.
Hunched shoulders told a visual tale
of a lifetime doing an honest days work.

The man’s wispy frame seemed at odds
with a pair of large hands, calloused,
the fingers gnarled and bent as though
limbs of an ancient oak tree.

He wore a cap, tilted precariously
upon a full head of graying hair.
How, I thought, can a broken-down old man,
crippled and obviously in a state of
physical discomfort,
afford that silly smile tacked on his face?

His demeanor presented no doubt
that he was a happy man,
at peace with himself and the world around him.
His years had been full and fruitful,
and he had no argument with life.

Watching as he moved away,
eyes opened, I began to see;
the old man I had studied there
was just a tiny glimpse of me.