5d • 🧱 Fragments
The Old Man
The old man fed the birds.
Same bench.
Same paper bag.
He tore the bread slowly.
Small pieces.
Like he was rationing time.
The pigeons crowded his boots.
Gray wings beating the morning air.
No phone.
No hurry.
Just a man
spending something
he had left.
0
0 comments
The Old Man
