Ode to An Old Man…

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wrinkles
are like orange peels
sun-kissed by summer skies,
with poetry
of life’s experiences,
oxymoron moods~

scribbled within
these fine streaks
quilled by age
on visage of existence.

wearing
them on skin
once unblemished,
complimenting snow of hair
dusted on tresses
like stardust,

your myopic eyes
yet curious and innocent
bracketed in crow feet,
laughter etched
under your lips in lines,
like anecdotes of bliss.

you are
reflection of
those morrows yet to come,
when peering through
glasses perched on nose
I would indulge
in armchair escapades
in catacombs of reverie.

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