Old Sir, I look into your eyes
and as they are downcast, I feel not see
And so I feel not see, and a little of my heart dies,
For I feel what it is you used to be.

You used to be young and sprite
With your essence bubbling forth,
Rumour has it, on your feet you were light
And with a young wife you danced your way up north.

Happy and merry as this may be, times change do they not?
Time passes leaving gifts of wrinkles and age
And in controlled despair you wonder if this is life’s lot…
With sadness and frustration you turn page
Every time leaving further behind a life that was not.

Old Sir, I look into your eyes
And I must feel not see,
For they are downcast beneath lids of years
And I wonder what sweet nothings fill your ears whilst you sit for hours and lie for many more.

If I seem to ignore ‘tis only to guard the heart that goes out to you,
For old Sir, I cry too, when I think that out of anonymous loyalty you wished away years.

Old Sir, I do see though that you still have glimmers of sprite
Even when you look low –
Perchance you are remembering some wild romantic age where you danced all night?