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Old man with a grey wool hat, and he walks right up to her and starts to cry. Young woman, pretty blue eyes, sweet smell of fresh mornings, plain brown dress, poorly dyed blond hair, she doesn't quite feel right holding the old man, so she suimply tries to tell him it's alright, looks around for help, finds no one at all. One gentle touch on his heavy shoulder, "Please don't cry, sir. Please, I'm sorry, please don't cry." Old man turns away, Oh what can he do, really? Fisherman face and woodcutter hands, swollen knuckles, aching joints, tender toothless mouth, bent and worn, tired and spent. But Oh! the mind behind that fallen face! Only the eyes, quiet and clear and worn boot brown, there is still a life inside. That poor mind, trapped in a body that it can no longer use. Age makes prisoners of the greatest men, oh there is such pain in his soft eyes. Why won't this young woman save him? "Don't you see? I am dying. I am not a man anymore, I am a vessel. I am a living mind trapped inside a dead body." She is young, she is fresh and able, she is quick and strong. Ah, and youth is wasted on the young, for that mind does not, can not, see that she will die. She will die.
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Muthtard?! Don't let'th be thilly. Lemon, now that'th different...
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