Robes of rags and hitch of step, age of years and swaggered hop. A poor old soul goes on and on, easing by the fire and telling stories forever on. When people told their past with stories, told their present with stories, foretold their future with stories, so was it to be that this elderly male of silver hair traveled far and wide in his youth. Now he stands of elder life, a joyful old male with many stories  to fill many life times. Eyes of old drab, storm of grey and focusing off into worlds beyond. It is by the fire shall he tell the stories and sing his sing.