I saw daisies in spring grass
And thought of the past
When I first made my chains
Unaware of coming care.
Our acts forge a chain
For good or bad.
When I was a lad
I took daisies freely
Innocent of what would come to be.
I have picked so many spring flowers.
And I have learned
That youthful hours
Can never return
And the chain I made
May grow heavier with age.
K Morris - Poet 
It definitely grows heavier. I used to think old age was a time of peace when worries have gone, but it’s not so.
Thank you for commenting, Vivienne. I agree with you.