Old Age
Old Age
The hours pass like beads on a string;
Each like the other in orderly array.
They march forth in military lines,
Each preceded by another.
The pain comes too,
Your old companion greets you on your bed.
Both your Spirit and your body ache,
In a chorus sung of long abuse.
The tears come quietly at first;
Unbidden and unseen.
Memories haunt your everydays;
And melancholy haunts your nights.
Old age is the price you pay;
For to long a journey on this earth.
Till at last battle worn and sore.
You can find your rest in final sleep.
Copyright © Wanda Daugherty | Year Posted 2019
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment