There he sat
The old man with a hat;
Under the tree,
Looking so free..
His ashen face, with lines of tire,
Making it known he worked with fire.
His eyes didn't shine
But he did not whine,
For he seemed to know
There is sun, rain and snow,
And that, life has many more seasons
Existing in for great grand reasons.
His clothes were tattered,
His belongings battered;
He appeared to have travelled
With him being gravelled,
Throughout the world, far and wide
In dust and roads, seas and tide..
His calloused hands
May have worked in sands
For they bore the mark
Of toil and labour; scarry and dark.
He might have seen joy and pain,
Youth and senility, beauty and vain.
But now he simply sat, looking so free
Hat on his head, under the tree..
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.
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.
.
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Ever considered pursuing that wanderlust or you always believed in "East or West, Home is the best"?
Comment and share your thoughts.
Take care. Stay safe.
Love and peace✌
YOU ARE READING
MUSINGS.. A collection of poetry
PoesiaPoetry is.. beauty, style and grace; Poetry is.. insightful, precious and profound; Poetry is.. ecstasy, passion and glee; Poetry is.. past, present and future; Poetry is.. heart, mind and soul; Poetry is truly a blessing.. Feel the same? Somewhat...
