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.