Dear Time

In a humble corner of the world, unseen,

There dwells a poor old man, bronzed and lean.

Time etches lines upon his weary face,

And hardship's touch has left its trace.

His clothes threadbare, his pockets bare,

Yet within his eyes, a resilience rare.

Through seasons harsh, he braves the storm,

His spirit unbroken, his heart still warm.

The weight of years upon his weary back,

He carries stories, memories that lack.

A life of struggles, where dreams were deferred,

But his spirit, undying, could not be deterred.

He finds solace in the whispers of the breeze,

And comfort in the shade of ancient trees.

With each passing day, he finds beauty anew,

In the simplest things that come into view.

He knows the value of a smile's embrace,

And the worth of kindness, regardless of place.

Though his pockets empty, his soul's wealth abounds,

In the compassion he shares, his voice resounds.