The
old man walks
Leg
bandaged up with a limp
By
his walking stick
The
eyes have seen
Shabby
pant and dirty shirt
He
knows he can't change his life
The
youth of his time
It
was wasted long ago
The
hard work of his time
Toiling
hard to make his living
He
hardly earned enough to feed
The
youth of his days tomorrow hardly mattered
How
time flies for him
The
years gone the future bleak
As
he walks he may wish
A
chance but time isn't on his hand
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