Is it I

Whose eyes are they, full of care and knowing.
Whose forehead wrinkled, creased and worry lined
Whose jowls that sag with age and life’s hard living
Whose mouth that frowning has so mean defined.

Who is that man who walks with stooping shoulders
Who is he that limps under livings weight
Who is the drunken stumbler I wonder
Who is he of the crooked twisted gait.

Whose thoughts are they that invade my dreaming
Whose memories are these that tear my eyes
Who owns these cares that drag me down screaming
Whose images and whose life I so despise.

Who owns this life that living has so flittered
Whose promises in broken pieces lie
Who is this wretch so beaten he’s surrendered
Do I know this lowly sinner. Is it I.

© Dave Kavanagh @ daithiocaomanaigh.com

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