Rickety Chair

On a chair ricketier than himself He is awake in his slumber Slumber that comes when days are long Yet numbered….. In the relished stupor The lost years show up as dreams The remnants announcing That he’s still alive! He’s though never sure He was ever part of them They must be his imagination, A myth or a tale he loves to believe. The wrinkles mock the idea That there was once a smoothness The dimming world around his chair Taunts to say the sparkle was a deceit Did youth really ever embrace him? It came to fleet away in a moment Leaving him on the rickety chair to lament!