Age methodically creeps up on us,
Until productive years seem spent.
Leaving us to recall fond memories,
Like some useless old malcontent.
The things that once delighted us,
Have scurried from our eye's view.
Now with health issues we're mired,
And our good days seem all too few.
We put off things until we retire,
Reasoning then we'll make more time.
Numbering opportunities we let pass,
Discovering late, we're past our prime.