On Growing Older Poem by Eric Bult

Now age's ruthless bonds ensnare my frame
That once propelled me over hurdles high
To gain a silver medal and a certain fame
Within a service I no longer occupy.
My eyesight, hearing and my reflexes
No longer match requirements to control
Light aircraft as they jink in aerobatics,
As I once did: I feel I've lost my soul.
Should I not have your own devoted love
To fan the dying embers of my will,
And give my own unwilling self a shove,
I do believe I'd simply wait until...

My name is called to join another class:
If that indeed will truly come to pass.