here is to you, old man
and your grey hair
sitting on the edge of your seat
engrossed in a sea of words
at a library desk

here is to your overalls
and your cracked, rough skin
to your dirty, famer fingernails
gently turning smooth pages
that bring you back in time

here is to your happy sigh
and content smile
as you hear the crinkle of a newspaper
and imagine the bleeding ink
when you lick your thumb to turn the page

here is to your scuffed boots
and the confidence of which they carry
as you walk across the floor
knowing sunrise and fields come quickly,
you go home to kiss your wedded sweetheart goodnight