Vitreous Poem by Geoffrey Donald Page

These softly wafting floaters are
a minor blessing age supplies
to couple with your tinnitus —
first the ears and then the eyes.

You still can read, you still can drive
so what's there to complain about?
They are but minor harbingers
and yet, each morning, there's no doubt

your cornea's a dirty windscreen;
your cochlea's a whistled sigh.
You've heard your last pure note of music;
you've seen your last unclouded sky.