Time to Write a Poem

Mr Jones from Wales

Mr Jones from Wales

He'd poke his head
inside the office door
on his daily walk.
The gravel in his voice
had a kind of crack and a squeak,
the sound of an ancient.
When he spoke
his words carried a lilt
and a brogue.
Widowed and alone,
with a twinkle and a smile
he'd offer a "good morning"
and sometimes a song.
Then he'd tap his cane
and continue on.
                   ~~Judi Van Gorder


Notes: ▼

15 Lines
Mr Jones was 91 when I met him. He came by almost every day while I worked in that office. After learning my great-grandmother was from Wales, he'd try to teach me some Welsh and often sang a song to me in Welsh.
Prompt:"April 3 poem: recall a person you did not know well"