This morning he saw himself in the frosted mirror
The very image of his father
Greying at the temples
Face creased with worry lines
Shadow of a beard
Glasses sitting on elongated nose
He speaks to himself –
How often you have visited me
In so many different forms
Keeping an eye from many hanging photographs
Puffing on your pipe of peace
The frosted mirror clears
In the clear light of day
The vision stays with him
He drifts off to face a new dawn
Writing this poem inside his head
Words have meaning.
Poetry from The ManShed
12/11/19
Chris's Blog 