I am tall in years these days
And sway with all the breezes.
Weather whistles through my ways,
Erupts in snorts and sneezes.
Snow hair caps my domed skull.
My eyes peer out the stratosphere.
Nests up there a hawk or gull.
Buzzards will arrive next year.
My feet no longer walk, they slide.
I exist on milk and gruel.
Black shadows stalk along my side
And challenge me to duel.
I know it’s out there, waiting, grinning,
That final apprehender
Trying for its final inning.
I’m damned if I’ll surrender.
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Comments about this poem (Age by Jan Sand )
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