He wanders

Down the aisles I see him shuffle,
His old comfy leather shoes as cracked as his face,
His clothes hang upon his drooping skin,
as his age rustles from the creak of his bones.

He stops and sighs like a lonely wind,
He has lost his list again,
Pain lies like an old jumper over his shoulders,
And he cant shake the feeling of an ending.

He wanders, soft as a caress, his touch disappearing,
He has folded many minutes into the notes of his life.
When he takes out his wallet, he flicks gently through the receipts,
He picks up his solitary chocolate bar, thanking me graciously
But he never returns.