The Golden Tear

He moved with deliberate motion
Each step a painful chore
His body bent and crippled
To the depths of his human core.

His skin so slight and fragile
His fingers bent and knobbed
His youth had passed so quickly
It was though he had been robbed.

One joy remained to soothe him
In his long and lonely life;
His family mostly gone now;
parents, children, wife.

To find the peace he desired
He struggled to pick a flower.
There was little else he could do
In this late and golden hour.

It would not be unusual
To pass him without a glance,
For time in youthful measure
Is a long enduring dance.

But if you took one moment
To stop and think of him;
Switch places as you ponder
And really delve within.

You would clearly notice
As he picked that flower near,
Upon his hollow sunken cheek
Was a single golden tear.