Notes About The Poem
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Old Age

How time goes racing now when there's no need to--
when there's so little farther left to go:
over the river--under the trees. Time ought to lead us 
slow...slow! 
                        --Archibald MacLeish
                                 1892-1982 

We talk about bodily functions, 
what works and what doesn't. 
We talk about medications,
and name them one by one
hoping we will win
the who has the most contest.
We talk about obituaries 
written daily in the local paper, 
jokingly relieved 
when we are not in it.
We talk about family
and tell the same stories 
we have told and heard 
for decades,
laughing or crying 
in certain places 
as if it is our first time
hearing the telling~
knowing our world is getting 
smaller with each passing day,
that soon we will be
only names on a gravestone,
trampled and forgotten 
in Time's relentless march.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2024

Poem

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Dietrich Avatar
February 8, 2024 at 1:08 PM
oh my, yes, how time marches on and indeed we do many of these things. The one I do not do is look at obituaries!! Well done, Chetta.
Achara Avatar
February 8, 2024 at 1:14 PM
Thank you.
Sinha-Roy Avatar
February 8, 2024 at 5:40 AM
So true. The timeless truth so poetically said. I relate totally with the sentiments, Chetta, especially the last lines.
Achara Avatar
February 8, 2024 at 8:02 AM
The older I and my social circle become the truer the poem becomes.
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