Growing old is no picnic

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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