Tag Archives: ageing

I Walk at a Fair Old Lick

I walk at a fair old lick
And pass many elderly men and women
With their walking stick.
And, should impatience try to master me
I recall that December
Comes to us all.
And find within me a temporary humility.

In Early December

In early December
I heard
The dawn bird
And did remember
Another year
Will soon end.

My friends
Are growing older.
I hear
Pretty young women
Ask me
About family matters.

There will be
No more sinning.
Merely hot tea
And matters
Of domesticity
For me.

I Must Confess

I must confess
That I obsess
On autumn leaves.

The trees
Are bare.

My hair
Has turned grey.

I could dye.
But each man’s day
Must end. my friend

Their Time in the Sun

They have fun
In the sun.
Their perfect
Bodies reject
The fact that they
Will grow old.
Where I to be bold
And say,
“All this will pass
Away”,
Lad and lass would laugh.
Though, perhaps a thoughtful few
Would say
“That’s true.
But we must
Enjoy our day
Ere we are dust”.
And I would nod,
And go away.

51

Its my birthday today.
I shall walk in the wood
And maybe see
A nymph.
But, if so,
I shall be good!

I shall go to the pub
Tonight
And delight
In the company of companions dear,
As we sit near
To the open fire.

I am 51.
Over half a century has passed.
Tonight I shall raise a glass
And wonder where the time
Has gone,
And be glad
That I have
Friends, and rhyme.

50

50. Soon to be 51.
The year
Is here
And soon gone.

I cough in the early morning.
A warning?
Probably not,
But soon the year will be gone
And I shall reach the age of 51,
How many more have I got?

Young women
Will still
Laugh at my humour,
But grinning
Is not sinning
And ’tis no rumour
That I grow old.

Gold
May, they say
Buy
Much more than a smile
From a pretty maid
But the eye
Of lust
Must turn to dust
Once our part is played.

Cramp

I wake
And feel an ache
In my bones.
I must
Engage with cramp
For age
Has left a stamp
On me
And dust
Hides in corners.

You may
Clear the dust away
But ’tis a never ending task
Which, at last
Will defeat
The best of men.
And the ache reminds thee
And me
That, in the end
The dust will win, my friend