Old Age
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Tomorrow is a birthday of the gravest consequence...
Proclivity denied in me the ancient, awful truth
but I now see quite clearly from the Crone's side of the fence,
the aperture slam shut upon the saga of my youth
I feel the marrow turn to dust inside each drying bone,
all nuance of fertility drains from my barren womb
I pray that in my final hours, I won't be left alone
to hear the bells a-tolling, as now, I'm aware for whom!
I'm bound to be quite feeble, if I make it past the day
Please, look in on me often to attest that I am fine
It's with temerity, though, that I hold on, anyway,
with luck, perhaps I'll see the ripe old age of twenty-nine...
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10/29/2018
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