Monday, January 9, 2012

Brittle Leaves

It's a difficult thing, admitting we've
grown too old, no longer denying the truth
and staring deep into our mortality which
until now we've not wanted to accept.
In those flourishing days of our youth
we often felt as if we could outgrow
our skins, but now we feel as if we are
shrinking too far into aging, grey husks,
finally seeing how we're at the autumn
of our lives while it gathers around us
as brittle leaves swirling about a lamppost.

--

4 comments:

Bill said...

one day at a time . . .

Adelaide said...

slowing into autumn
a showy display of color
before the fade

We got a lot of living to do yet, Warren.

Adelaide

Nana Fredua-Agyeman said...

love it. love it. Reminds me of my mom as I knew her and as I know her now. I wish she remains the same but time is not respecter of persons.

Warren said...

Hi Bill - Yep, living to enjoy each day, not the sum of all days. Thanks!

--

Adelaide - I've come to the conclusion that we live until we die, or more succinctly, most of us don't know when we will die, so why live in fear of it - it'll happen when it happens. I'm enjoying living now as a happy camper on the crest of life. Thanks.

--

Fred! How are you? Been awhile since we've talked. I hope your mom is doing okay (okay is about all any of us can hope for). Thanks for stopping by!

Warren