The trouble with being "old" Is that you can only get "older". Daffodils droop Lilies wilt And I get grayer every day. Children grow older, too Into strength Into manhood Into Life's maelstrom. But Old me? Hearing failing Eyesight dimming Muscles creaking A fading flower On a drying stem A lingering link In a passing generation Now might be a good time to die While still alive to life Still alert and thinking Still caring and being cared for. There are those Who will cry When I die Who will mutter a prayer for me Who will remember the "golden" days When we walked on fallen autumn leaves Rode on stout bay horses Jived in time to music Argued blue-faced. Days and nights ago When we knew no care But the morrow's dawn, No regrets but yesterday's promise But now, I can think only of the past No future looming bright Only death, the dark life Beneath the stone That will say "To our dear mother" And still there is a spark Refusing to be extinguished Pleading for life in this world, Crying to be heard, saying "True, I don't walk so well Nor stand so straight Nor sing so true But my heart still beats And I still can love!" But for how much longer? |
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