Ageing Is Not Being Old
Is there such a thing as ‘old’
Or is it merely ‘ageing’,
The trusty steed of time,
Neither willful nor disparaging.
Perhaps the clock does chime
More stridently in youth,
Our actions and our words
In search of our own truth.
As years pass ever faster
We tether more our deeds
To mundane pressing matters
Reality’s own needs.
Each day a new performance
In a circus full of acts,
With this demanding audience
No room to fail nor lapse.
Wiser by the season,
Less impetuous by far,
We may be somewhat altered
Yet follow that same star.
Our love has not diminished,
Our passions have not waned,
We feel and care as deeply
With actions more contained.
Judge not this book unwisely,
Despite its cover torn,
It’s content rich with meaning,
Its beating heart still warm.
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