The Random Old Man

At the random old man, randomly I gawk,
As in the mellow, twilight street I walk -
Slow pace,
Seasoned face,
But - apace, apace.

"O poor soul," sigh, escapes from my breast.
"He'll take a long time, to reach his nest."
Poor man,
Not he can
Get some car or van?

Nod I and hurry until, a minute later I stop;
Then enter for the groceries, the intended shop.
Make my purchase,
In night's glaze,
When outside I gaze:

Cover my eyes from headlights, of a passing car;
When I look, spot the old man, who has come so far.
Slow still pace,
Seasoned face,
Still - apace, apace.

He looks at me, stops, then is in dark consumed.
I look at him, smile, then journey is resumed.
Knows he best,
In this quest,
He will reach his nest.