The time has passed for new ideas,
There is a dearth of days to seize,
The sun comes up while we're asleep.
We take our time, there is no rush,
No one is chasing after us,
All deadlines and designs are done.
We don't always know the day,
Some hair is missing, some's gone gray,
We feel the cold inside our house,
Trees planted when we first moved in,
Now offer shade in the afternoon,
Their branches reach up to the sky.
Why things are are so, we cannot reason,
We play games to improve cognition,
Well-known facts slip through our fingers.
We're missing those whom we held dear,
The wind is whispering in my ear,
What comes next, you should not fear.
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Author:
PerditaRose (
Offline) - Published: December 9th, 2025 05:57
- Comment from author about the poem: This poem is relevant to those of a certain age. I hope the lines are not too awkward or the rhymes too forced.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 10
Offline)
Comments3
And I do not fear but await like a child before Christmas. A lovely poem of growth and the cycle of life. Well done in most poetic form
Thank you, Soren. I'd never thought of death in that way before.
Lovely message on aging. Written beautifully. Great write. Thanks for sharing!
Thank you, Katie, and you're welcome.
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