shuffle step

I saw an old man walking

his shoulders softly drooping

the shuffle step

the weight of years

the questions never pausing

I gazed at him unseen

though rough his steps not stopping

from where he came

to where he goes

I knew I'd never know

Has time to him been kind

do memories haunt his way

of faces gone

what might have been

I mused on possibilities

He might have stayed indoors

decaying by the fire

yet on the eve

of death's new day

he chose to soldier on

Perhaps in hime I see

the path we all may tread

each day a chance

to venture forth

and see what lies ahead

sludge spot

there's a spot under the pot

where the sun never shines

the moss is growing fast

the water never dries

a year or two or maybe three

the warp has now set in

the rot is strong it won't last long

entropy in 3-D

pine needles join the dance

a moldy tango fierce

another drop another drip

the point of no return

beneath the moss under the pot

the wood is holding still

but touch the spot so full of rot 

it crumbles instantly

beware the dark and damp

where no light enters in

things left too long decay

compost in formation

before that moment passes by

move the pot let it dry