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THE KEYS TO AGING

Does anyone ever get old enough not to regret getting older?,
While the wretched winter weather seems caustically colder
Does one reach a point where the point becomes moot,
and aging becomes a more acceptable concept to boot

Now at sixty-four I ruminate and rue the clock
Wrought with thoughts of growing older to block
My mirror is certainly no “Portrait Of Dorian Gray”
Rather my reflection reveals what has been stolen away

I see all the flesh that once was so taut
And lose a war I once so valiantly fought
It seems that time’s intention is to wrinkle me and more
And as for growing older there’s no more arduous a chore

My muscles grow more atrophied with each passing day
While my once golden hair turns ever more gray
Women see not the youthful man who dwells deep inside
While the hope of dancing and romancing have both been defied

Perhaps senility is a gift granted thus in disguise
When one trades dementia for what once was so wise
And then one begins a battle with short-term memories
And by the way, does anyone know what I did with my keys?
                                   © 2012…..PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~

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