His face was lined, his hair like snow.
He held a pipe, its bowl was brown,
And puffed on it, with a weary frown.
He spoke of days, long, long ago,
When he was young, and strong, and bold.
He sailed the seas, he faced the storm,
He'd never feared a single form.
But now, he said, with a trembling hand,
His strength was gone, his life was planned.
He sat by the fire, and thought of all,
The memories sweet, the memories tall.
He'd lived a life, of joy and strife,
He'd tasted love, he'd tasted life.
He'd seen the world, in all its grace,
And now he sat, in this quiet place.
The fire crackled, the embers glowed,
The old man's story, softly flowed.
He spoke of love, and loss, and pain,
And then he fell, into sleep again.