On growing old

by Angela Prew

The sun of our youth is slowly setting,
eternity glows in the Western sky
while closer approaches the vulture’s cry.
Often now, we find ourselves forgetting
names of old friends, things we should be getting
from upstairs. Words trip on our tongues or fly
from our minds. We’ve become bleary of eye
and spend more time sitting and regretting
those years when our feet trod lightly; we danced
down the days; when our eyes were sharp and clear
seeing the future, but far, far away,
far from our lives. Keep it for another day.
Now that day approaches, it is almost here;
but wait! Life’s accounts must yet be balanced.


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