The Golden Years
The world has heard of the golden years
Is it a myth or a phrase
When do they begin,when do they end
When you are young you can run the race
But when you're old you can't wash your face
Your bones ache in pain at night
Your joints are rusty ,and you lose your sight
When they tell you about the pot of gold
At the end of a rainbow,you can't hear
Must be the golden years.
Copyright © Susan Duplechin | Year Posted 2007
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment