He is the handsomest of men.
Were I to rank him, I’d give him “ten.”
His hair is white, his face is tan.
He’s the epitome of “man.”
No toy soldier formed of tin,
locked up in a storage bin,
he still makes memories by the ton.
His active life is not yet done.
He gardens and then ventures out––
Jackie along, without a doubt,
to drive down lanes and have a look,
then returns home to read a book.
Then sup on Jackie’s find cuisine––
a roast or curry or terrine
And then they’ll sip, to coin a pun,
on wine from bottles, not a tun.

The prompt for SOCS is:   tan/ten/tin/ton/tun. I’ve written about Derrick Knight, whose blog I’ve read for years. You can find today’s blog, which inspired this poem, HERE.