On being Old


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
unfulfilled
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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This material is ©1998 by Grace Hollander
3 Keren Haysod st,Ramat Ilan, Givat Shmuel, Israel 51905

Permission to distribute this material, with this notice is granted - with request to notify of use by surface mail
or at gracehollander@usa.net.