“I used to be a poet. My words were traded in marketplaces like pieces of gold. Merchants bought my verses for as much as they paid for saffron and Indian jade. Now I am old... drunk on wine and candle fumes. Alone in this barren room, I speak my psalms to the night air so as to entertain moths before they go off to die. I used to be a poet and my words were gold.” PoetryMoneyGriefLonelinessAmbitionGoldAgingIndianOld ManAgeingBeautiful LifeLamentMothsPsalmsLonlinessExchangingRoman PayneJadeExchangeCandlesSaffronPoeticsMarketplacesMinor PoemMinor PoetryOld Poet Author:Roman Payne