Docents of Descent
Old age is neither curse nor choice,
but borrowed time to rejoice.
Friends we loved, lives we knew,
have slipped away—we all do.
We think of missteps, choices made,
of roads we took and paths we strayed.
We wonder what we might have done
had wisdom come when we were young.
Of old regrets, we make our peace—
repair what we can, or let them cease.
Too little time left to spare,
but still enough to love and share.
We’re the keepers of what has been,
the stories of friends and kin.
This treasure trove of memories amassed,
We are living archives of the past.
Docents of descent, we carry on
the tales of those who now are gone.
To those who follow, we must impart
the names, the stories, and the heart.
We do not whine about our age,
the years have written every page.
We have been tested, bent, and tried—
wisdom earned with time and pride.
Copyright © Richard Morris | Year Posted 2026
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