As if your thoughtful brain’s been dulled by wine,
You find it hard to think in older age
And can’t remember having read a line
A second after having turned the page.
Of course you knew your life would come to this;
You’ve always held you’re much like anyone.
And yet, despite the chance to reminisce,
The morning finds you walking in the sun.
Your senses fill with every sight and sound
From birds in flight to leaves disturbed by wind.
And evening finds you standing on the ground
Beneath a tree up which the young you shinned.
And, since the only time there is is now,
You scale the trunk and sit upon a bough.
Photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash
Oldness
