Love at the age of 70 (Task-1)

He knocked on the door of age 70,

Feelings rushing in veins slowly,

Cocooning letters of LOVE, 

Once sprouted in his megalopolis of warmth.

One day he was swirling in a wooden chair,

Sipping his lonely cup of sugar-free tea,

Tucking his mind in the roman print paper,

But his eyes were lost in the lady.

Gazing the details of her story, 

From wrinkle hands to her divinity,

But a minute later, she turned...

And his scared eyes began shuffling on and off, 

In search of a place to take a halt.

Nervous letters began murmuring,

Hands shivering while folding the paper,

As he began to fold, lost his sense for a while, 

Like a tornado of sentiments began to fight.

When he saw her standing in front of him,

Close enough to see the black mole on her chin,

Awkward silent wind passing by,

Which interrupted when she waved him Hii.