I see this every Wednesday as I have the chance to sing at a local nursing home.
The closer I get
The more a masterpiece you appear
Looking back at them
How replete with memories are your years
At a cursory glance, you seem chiseled in stone, of rock quarried from ancient ruins. Your body weathered, as a once stately elm now tattered from the storms.
To get to know you seems pointless; the path to your heart long trodden, too hardened to trespass. Your aged years seem to have finalized the need for further discourse.
All too quickly, then, I summarize and dismiss you. My conclusions cause me to walk away, seeking friendship with a more vibrant sort.
It is only by drawing nearer that I see more.
There are subtle colors forged into your withered front. There is a fluidity of joy beneath the frozen surface of your countenance. There…
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