The Old Rhyming Poet

In his early eighties his best days long gone But the gray haired old poet he keeps penning on Though many see him as of another time Sixty years as a poet and still writing in rhyme. Though not seen as a mentor to the young poets of the town He once was the Regional Poet Laureate and he knew of renown When rhyme it was popular a long time ago And his hair was as dark as the wing of a crow. Not hard to tell he's known a far better day The old rhyming poet that the years have left gray It has been more than five decades since he was in his prime Eventually we all become victims of time. In time as in life few things do seem to last And verses that rhyme are now seen as of the past But to him to stop writing would be living a lie And he will be a poet till the day that he die.