Dignified Poem by segun Johnson Ozique

He is I think the man I want to be when I'm old,
Feelings re enforced each morning as I see him walk,
Passing by my house at the stroke of eight; him, his dog and cane,
Imperially handsome bohemian with the lush grey interlocking hair,
Always on those baggy jeans and multicoloured shirt;
And flip-flop house soothing foot wear to cushion his frame.

What is his history? I often wondered;
This charming, walking; years of human experience:
Who has loved him and who has he loved,
With such balanced, well proportioned body and gaiety?
Where has he been? To still hold such pristine taste in clothes,
To what exotic meals has he indulged over the years,
To still retain such captivating boyish wizardry looks?
What possible age can he be? to have gone slightly bent,
Yet defiantly resistant to the final pool of the ground?

At exactly a thousand and the sixth steps, he rests;
Between walks, sitting on a roadside nature truncated stump:
Ten minutes on, they leave - him, his dog and privileged cane,
He smiles and waves at; the swaying trees, flapping butterflies, waving passers-by;
But with I one of such regulars, he did much more, the old brat does wave, then twinkly wink.

Knowing him made me know who I want to be when I grow old:
When age traps me and I am lovingly on my home stretch to earth,
For him I say this little prayer: I pray that as a wane leaf is naturally plucked off it host,
Without the least encumbrance to fertilize the ground for another, so be his portion,
When it's his time: same I; that mine - a long and fruitful life journey end, restfully.