On Old Age
After sixty years one is less agile
And most ev’ryone is younger
than you;
They tend to treat you as
extra fragile,
Which is a good thing
because it is true.
Time becomes more amorphous and less rushed
(Was it three, or perhaps
ten years ago?)
And so one speaks less and
one’s tones are hushed,
Unsure, remote, hesitant,
kind of slow.
It is the time of life to go
within,
To break free of all of the
commotion,
To become quiet, to escape
the din,
To ride the ebb-tide into
the ocean.
It is the time of sunset and
return,
When all the ties to this
sad world are burned.
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