The old man Grayed with age Squinted in dismay At the brightness Of the screen Displaying the words Of his newborn poem His vision had blurred As his days Turned to years And the words That he saw Brought shape To those Gleeful memories When his Jokes Brought smiles To faces Of friends He used to know His head throbbed In different direction Bolts of pressure Expanding outwards Dulled his thoughts As his wrinkled brow Gave birth to a new idea

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