“You think me old?” asked the man whose folds could tell you of booted feet in bog soaked trenches, too numb from cold to tell when the rot set in.
“You think me old?” asked the man who’d watched women in polka dot men twirl on the arms of boys not fated to come home again.
“You think me old?” asked the man who’d once held books with more care than that which he’d showed to the new born babe passed from his wife’s arms. The man who matched each title to the lines etched in his face and called each new one a moment more of knowledge.
“You think me old?” asked the man. “I am as old as what I have learnt, and what is left for me to learn marks me but a babe.”
Carol J Forrester - Writing and Works 
I will always love learning, though at this juncture I doubt my love for it will get me anything more than factoids stuffed into an overfull head.
I have a brain full of useless information, it does not make me appreciate what I know any less, or case what I don’t know any less keenly.
Gorgeous. Love how you connected his lifetime of experiences to each line on his face. Your take on the prompt makes me want to sit down and have a loooonnnnnng conversation with the man in the photograph. Well done!
Thank you 😀