The Old Storyteller

A pipe full of tobacco
A mug of foaming beer
A rustic bench , a shady tree
And company to cheer
The old man sits and time is his
The essence of old age
Beneath the wrinkled face there lies
the wisdom of a sage.

His needs are cheap and simple
a chance to reminisce
and if a friendly ear is found
his face lights up with bliss.
His tales enhance with passing time
as value grows with gold
They burnish bright, and gleam again
Embellished when retold

He takes you to another age
with chuckles and with sighs
You find yourself in sympathy
when the moisture dims his eyes
Thoughtfully, he draws his pipe
and through the smoky haze
he lifts his mug and sips his beer
and dreams of better days.