(Source: BBC News Sussex)
The world wizzes by
At sixty minutes an hour
As the invisible old man
Shuffles by the store window.
Faces, buried in phones,
Are oblivious to his struggles
As early winter snows
And joints no longer fresh
Imperil every footfall;
Each step an exercise
Of will and forethought.
Hands palsy of cold and age,
Eyes rheum of wind and memory,
But the soul burns wildly
Despite bodily afflictions.
Crowds thicken and jostle;
The man holds his place
To catch balance and breathe.
And historied eyes rise
To catch reflections in glass.
The eyes that watch me
Are my own of blue,
But the husk that bears them
Is that of an ancient;
Frail and mortal witness
To a life eternal.
(Source: http://www.paularcher-uk.com)
createdbyrcw 
Loving poem I would say as I have enjoyed. 🙂
Thank you for your kind words
I am one of those and so is my Dad. You brought tears to my eyes…
Prompted by an older gentleman I saw on a bus yesterday…he only went a few stops, but his every movement was calculated to anticipate and offset the movements of the bus. Fascinating and yet difficult to watch
Sounds like me walking to the grocery store – when I can walk to the grocery store. I get some nasty back spams. Nice writing though. Thanks for seeing him.
I too have my moments. I spent several years walking at the side of my grandmother, so I appreciate the planning the next block sometimes takes.
Thanks for your kind words.