His skin looks old, brown, and wrinkled; scarred by the Mexican Sun;
His wrinkles are a chronicle of his life-long Wisdom.
His hands are rough to the touch; toughened by years of toil on the Fields;
Breaking his back for the people he Loved.
His aroma is reflective of his love for Tobacco; A cigarette between his fingers for 75 years.
A habit perhaps, but it is part of who he is.
His voice is croaky, dusty, but sweet: Always uttering words of Wisdom or Legendary Stories.
When he speaks all should listen;
He is an ancient Library whose contents should be Preserved and Remembered.