Walking up a hill
I see the slender grey hair man.
Walking stick in one hand.
Dodging cars to get across.
The street is 40 zone,
Crossing is fairly safe.
I ask if he was OK,
As the heat was strong in the middle of the day.
He speaks so softly,
Says he's OK.
Then asks for my shoulder,
To help him walk up the rest of the way.
The street has a steep incline,
We walk up slowly.
Tells me he is 91,
Yet keeps up pace and talking.
I don't know his name,
I don't know much more than what he said,
In WW2 and a GP,
I do remember his joy when we fist bumped good bye.
I was glad to have met Mister 91.
It reaffirmed my commitment,
To move more in life,
I want to have his strength till the day I die.
Written: Thursday, 30 January 2025 – during my “lunch and movement” diary reminder.
Published: First time on this website on launch.
