Weathered
Life had weathered his skin
Drawn lines
Creased at the corner of his eyes and 'cross his forehead
His age
An irrelevant number
40 or 90
It meant nothing to His story
His eyes
Sometimes dimmed
Or aflame
Every days' storms worn on his face
Not the boy he had been
But a man
He knew himself
What was his was owned by his heart
And those around him
Lives better for his presence
By all that made him
Loved and protected he'd given himself for them
Not emptied
More full because of them
Yes he was weathered
But there was life in him growing and still taking root
And changing the world
©johnfklee
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