And Smelled Like Cloves


He was a young man, maybe, but they called him middle-aged
With eyes alight and fully engaged
He stared at the world, and the world blinked.

It didn’t revolve around him, but he helped it spin
With a wink and a flash of his uneven grin
The gaps in his teeth and his logic show
A few gray hairs distinguish his head
And his face wrinkles from where earthquakes hit;
His laughter permeates the room.

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Because Russ L asked

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