Poem: On Growing Old


The rutted road

winding

unfamiliar paths

carved by years

The rolling tracks of scraping tears

and curving twist of mirth’s sharp shape

A body once

so ripe and round

now clinging close

decaying dark

in parts unseen

Sluggish now to greet the day

but still its beauty

sweet

For each step sacred

the more

and more

we take

 

 

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