Old Age Footles
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Behold,
Too old
Life, tough
Days rough
Legs slip
Words lisp
Cheeks cave
Spirits rave
Knees jerk
They irk
Lungs weak
Bones creak
Nerves shrink
Joints clink
Legs lag
Days drag
Ears shut
Eyes hurt
Skin sags
Mind lags
Lose zest
Need rest
Twilight,
Don’t spite.
Death near,
End clear.
Old age-
In cage
Old age-
Last stage
Don’t cry,
Wipe dry.
Soul flies
None dies
_______________
July.5.2022
~Plced Fifth~
Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Copyright © Valsa George | Year Posted 2022
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