Old Man Sitting In The Sun
Are his Time Machine.
I cannot see what they see;
They… Well, they no longer see me.
Seldom again touch mine.
Arthritic. Their feeling dulled by age
Yet... Sensitive and nimble; touch yesterday.
Tho not intended for me,
Is able still, to brighten my day
And make me wish that it was for me.
Returns in perfect clarity
To times where he lives again;
Making of memory… a Fine Art.