Tag Archives: growing old

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.

Growing old

When
Young women say,
In a conversational sort of way,
“I wasn’t born
When
You did such and such”,
Then
My heart does warn
Of dust.
Though I
Suspect, ’tis lust,
Which is last to die.

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

Roses I May Not Pick, Tempt

Roses I may not pick, tempt
With their sweet
Scent.
The peach,
Out of reach
I may not eat
For mine
Wine
Has passed its best.
But, in time
All things must rest.
The hour
Of the flower
And peach, is brief,
And all must, one day cease

Eternal Youth

‘Tis a truth
Profound
That eternal youth
Can not be found
By middle-aged men who pursue
Girls of 20,
(But there are plenty
Who do).

The run
May be fun
And rings
And other such things
May a man buy
More than a look
From a young girl’s eye,
Which is sometimes mistook
By the old
For love.

Nothing comes after
Her brittle laughter
Save for more
Of the same, but the fool will not be told
The truth,
That with all his gold
He can not purchase eternal youth,
Though some already this fact
Know
But act
As though
It where not so
And continue to buy
Forced laughter
After each joke
On which they both, secretly, choke.