Growing old is no picnic


Grains
 
Grains of sand falling through time
 
On my face they measure out lines
 
Western shores making up a beach
 
Memories of my birth are beyond reach
 
Future uncertain lived every day
 
Flashes of past loves fading away
 
Didactic lessons long ago forgotten
 
Missing pieces of my mind that have rotten
 
Yesterday, today and tomorrow all the same
 
Familiar faces but not remembered names
 
Ghost loves haunt me through sleepless nights
 
Long ago summers of holding hands tight
 
Each year trees are marked by grains of lines
 
Growing old must be paid by passing time


Submitted: March 22, 2018

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