The Fear of Getting Old
Oh old weed
Thy feet weathered
Like that of a tree
Like a child
Always carried
Thy beauty left behind
Trembling feet
What a painful joy
Scattered teeth
Grandchild taking thy as fun
Knoweth not that
Old though shall become
Twisted face
But beauty glance,once was
Sun,laughing,cause you're at the end of the race
If this is what it means
To get old
Then proudly I will tell the wind
That it's not in my will!!
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