by Dale Ricky
An old mans view into a mirror.
I looked in the mirror today.
The reflection back was and wasn't me.
I saw a lad able to climb an oak tree.
Not an old man looking weakly.
Seems not long ago, running upstairs was a lark.
Today it is escalators and elevators or a cart.
My thoughts and ideas flowed like whisky and wine.
Now, remembering a name takes so much time.
Scars mark adventurers and errors made.
In shimmering glass, does history fade?
Is wisdom measured by snow-colored hair?
Do foggy eyes see only history's glare?
The mirror sees what is now, today.
The mind transcribes from yesterdays.
Haunted recordings of family, friends, and loves.
Showing me what once was.
O, but look! Something else I see!
Aye, a little older, greyer and plump, truthfully.
Bright twinkling eyes and a childish grin right there.
Concocting mischief and adventure afoot here.