Your fingers grow
twisted like mangled branches.
Your hands grow knobbly like old roots.
You groan and stretch, astonished at the youth
of your mind and agonized at the aging of your body.
But I see the same man whose brain enthrals
like a tall, dependable
trunk.
whose
body
captivates
like a
canopy
of new
green.
I played among branches and roots as a child,
and I still love climbing trees.
Shawn L. Bird 
Love this! Especially how you structured the poem so it resembles a tree and how the “trunk” and “roots” etc fit into it.
🙂 I am a little too fond of concrete poetry, I’m afraid. It’s not the ‘current fashion’ in poetry, but occasionally I can’t help myself.
A beautiful picture of love for one’s father or even grandfather( but that’s a bit close to my age so we’ll gloss over that one.)
xxx Huge Hugs xxx
Thanks, though the mangled hands in question are only 51.
Very Creative!
Glad you like it.
Fantastic
Thank you kindly.
Very nice poem. I like the visual effect, too!
Thanks.
Truly beautiful! What inspiration drew you to it?
Inspiration:
-Stray comments as two middle aged men compared their hands: arthritis and Dupreyne’s Contraction.
-Pondering metaphors.
-A thought that I should have some similes in something this week for TimthePoet.
-Desire to encourage the young man, stressing over the betrayal of his body.
Beautiful! Your poem brought me back in time to a conversation with my grandfather about aging. His view was so similar to your poem – bemoaning the aging body that doesn’t match with the youthful mind…although he was less eloquent, and that conversation involved a few swear words if I recall 😉
lol
I love it!
Thanks.
Your Dad.
No, actually. Dad (at 99) doesn’t have twisted or knobbly hands. 🙂
i think u presented the ideas in an unique way, may be i will give a try
Please do
k i will, and all the best for ur books, i will be pleased if u can share ur opinions on some of my articles
lovely thoughts – sounds like you are speaking to your father…
Apparently that is the consensus, erroneous though it is.