Aged ThoughtsAn old man sits ridgedly on acold park benchduring a warm midday afternoon;a small, shrunken man, not bothering others,but mumbling quietly to the ground,thinking to himself:"my eyes aren't what they used to be" hemumbles;but what had he seen with them back then?nothing,except the same place, same scenes, same friends;his eyes never experiencedanything but monotony;the old man closes his eyes andstretches his arthritic muscles;"my muscles aren't what they used to be"he bitterly complains to himself;but what did he use his muscles for?nothingexcept for the strainful work of hisjob;did he have anything