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I met an old man on my rugged way,

About whom this is what do people say-

That he has gone estranged because of age,

Though ago he had had Time in his cage,

Carried across, lands, deserts, seas and bays.

Wrote he chronicles of cheers, tears, alike,

As if they were the two wheels of a bike,

The two musts for the latter's speed and hike.

Now he's old and weak, decayed in the cold

Of December when all wait to behold

The birth of a New Baby in this hope

That It'll herald a brighter, redder sun,

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