Some try to guess what age he is

And many have their say.

All I can say with certainty,

He’s eighty if a day.

Bright yellow shorts and tee shirt blue

White trainers, baseball cap

Around his neck a chain or two

To jingle as they flap.

Tall and slim with spindly legs,

Wrinkled face, eyes clear,

Shoulders tilted witch-like,

A smile from ear to ear.

His gait would win no prizes,

A little short, quick trot,

But his stamina surprises

In weather cold or hot.

He’s just another jogger,

But a special one to me.

Brings clarity to my thinking

What life’s perspective be.

A model of contentment,

No trace of scowl or frown;

Pleasure and serenity,

The oldest jogger in town.