Old man’s poetry is a paltry thing,
A light breeze from tattered coat
Upon a bird -scaring stick in field.

Old poet is himself a paltry thing.
His poetry is just a hole , a tatter
That admits  much light and heat.

At the foot of  comic stick hosting
His coat ,crawl red velvet coated
Creatures just out of the wet earth.

(Referring to W.B.Yeats’ famous poem Sailing to Byzantium)

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