He was old and bent, his skin wrinkled, hair grayed
When he raised himself, he stooped, not stood
His limbs shook, clothes were faded and frayed
His frame was slight from insufficient food.
He was young at heart, from his frail lips gushed wisdom
Stories he would spin to show this forth
In them were hid lessons for life, paths to freedom
Children screamed with laughter, men frowned in thought
When he would smile-beware, the tale was of pain,
And when he frowned it turned out smooth
The old storyteller made it plain-
Life is not always as it appears.
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