Getting Old Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak
Getting Old
Standing in the midst of nature's beauty, arms outstretched,
body decaying, getting old.
Waiting forlornly for someone to approach and give a hug,
wishing to be recognized as a living entity, to be held and
cuddled like a small child.
There is no wrong to be found within an aging heart, only
good wanting to be touched and shared.
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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4/18/2024 6:39:32 AM # 1.0.0.1119
