An Old Man

by John Herlihy

He is an old man.
Does that say very much?
In fact, in some ways it doesn’t.
Old is old, and man means a man—
What more is there to say?
Perhaps nothing more,
But this, a little more.

He doesn’t speak of himself,
But he has much to say.
He has lived a long life,
A story long in the telling,
A story as long as the life lived,
A story that will end once told,
A story that will never be told again.

His memories fully woven but threadbare—
Thin in their content and forgotten,
Rich in their content and remembered.
Memories that are seen and heard alone,
Memories he can remember again,
Memories only he can remember,
Memories only he can forget.

The old man never cared to be noticed;
If noticed, he had to give himself away.
A rich life lived quietly within himself;
Whenever he had to come out of himself,
A poor life lived on the outside of himself.
He enriched himself by drawing things in;
Drawing things out, he gifted himself away.

Some things can be hard for old people.
On the one hand, easy to go to bed at night;
Difficult to get out of bed in the morning—
The heaviness lifting the body onto the floor,
The lightness of mind another day to explore.
Only the paradox of age can enjoy such levity,
As in the youthful heart versus the aging body.

The old man spent much time with himself.
Obviously, being old, not much time left.
But one could say there is time enough—
Time enough to be the person one is,
Time enough to do what must be done,
To remember what one has already done,
To imagine what one will never do again.

The old man has seen much suffering;
The old man has seen much sorrow.
The happiness of others has filled his days;
The success of others has enriched his life.
In feeling these things, he draws them in;
In feeling these things, he takes responsibility;
In feeling these things, he owns these things.

The old man never achieved success or fame.
He never thought of himself as important.
He lived his life one day at a time;
He met life’s challenges one at a time.
If a new day arrives, he will use his time—
Still time enough to be who he is,
Still time enough to live a good life,
Still time enough to be just an old man,
Still time enough . . . to be important.

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Copyright © John Herlihy
Sunday, 14 June 2026