By Kenyugi Kent
I met an old man by the road,
Shaking yet sturdy strode.
Shimmery crown adorned his head
The wrinkled skin ran across embed.
'I am blessed', he said.
'Many are gone', deep laid.
Those eyes brimmed a thousand tales,
Which await the strenuous sails.
His smile made my heart glad,
The past glory in full clad.
Barefoot he plod; the cold doesn't kill
As he mount the steep hill.
The blurry cloud descended.
As I turn back and headed
To the path of fresh trail,
A dint of the old man behold the dale.