Thank you, Anni. Maybe I'm a masochist because I do like making things difficult for myself. I considered rhyming each line as well, but that was a bridge too far. Perhaps next time...
The old man sits hunched
and brooding alone,
brows knitted and bunched,
lips silent as stone,
his eyes fixed on nowhere
and always downcast,
his thoughts being elsewhere
and ashes his past.
Line count: 8
Rhymed abab
For Express It In Eight, 12.12.23
Prompt: Write a poem about ash or ashes.
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