At Seventy Nine

He is not the man that he once used to be
The Country's best eight hundred meters runner when he was twenty three
His fastest pace nowadays to say the least slow
Time on the best of them eventually does show

A type two diabetic he often feels tired
Even to go for a brisk walk he cannot feel inspired
His wife a year older than he is for her age looking well
Though the years on her too are beginning to tell

Like all great grandparents their best years long gone
And only the memories in him now live on
Of when he was the Country's best eight hundred meters athlete
Tall, dark and handsome and quick on his feet

He goes to the toilet now many times a day
Pre diabetes with him it was never this way
The hair on his balding head is silver gray
He surely has known of a far better day

Young and energetic anyone does not stay
That time wearies the best of them seems true to say
At seventy nine not the man he was many Seasons ago
Time that rusts iron has become his foe.