an old writer and his words

They were lemmings aligning,ever impatient, always seeking.For some, it would be rejuvenation,for others rebirth, a recapture of youth.He was no mage, not Merlin, butthey gathered around his tablea lazy susan of desires, pleas, entreaties.All he could offer was snake oil, but theygladly took it as hope, an abiding faithin a cure for their existential condition.They…