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He sits,
sipping his hot drink;
his teeth stained brown
from years of tea and coffee.
He watches
the young children running around the compound;
the young women bending in the fields;
the young men coming home from the hunt;
the old women stirring rabbit stew;
the old men repairing the hoes.
He feels
his age in bone and muscles.
But his eyes
are still sharp enough
to see lovers strolling in the sun.
His ears
are still sharp enough
to hear small children cry.
He smiles
as he watches the people.
They are his legacy.
