Rusted

The rust flakes slowly from his skin
With every gust, a shred of sin
With age the sage is yet more lost
And health comes at a higher cost

The joints creak and groan with every move
The muscles slack, but what's to prove?
The wrinkles furrowing his face
The bloom now gone without a trace

He still finds the will to walk
Vocal chords will creak to talk
Ideas in the dead of night
He grasps the pen, begins to write.