The speaker imagines old age as a small, sunlit square inside him, bordered by old shops with gaudy awnings. The old men smoking there are his thoughts. Every evening he arrives in a creaking cart, unloads supplies, and settles into easy talk with them, sharing pipes and the scent of pale flowers. The mood is calm, warm, and accepting—old age feels less like loss and more like a familiar place to sit and reflect.
Around that still center, younger life continues noisily. Strong men, women, and children pass by and greet him, but he remains a little apart, quietly observing. The final line introduces a soft note of finality: one evening he will not return. It is a gentle way of acknowledging death. The poem leaves an impression of peace, intimacy, and quiet readiness.