You were young and beautiful,
the long red hair, dyed
but not vibrant, not outlandish
or gaudy, just beautiful
which matched your eyes
in a playful, yet stern like feature, a Cleopatra
as she maintained order and brought
generals and leaders to their quivering knees;
you were beautiful and for a while
I was lost in your young eyes
dancing in alert fashion
on the way to Waterloo.
It was only as I went to leave
the bus that I noticed the old man,
gasping badly, fighting for each breath
and with wrinkles upon wrinkles
in his long lost lonely eyes.
the wrinkles accumulate with interest
the more the passer by ignores
what has once been.
Ian D. Hall 2017