Now that we're suddenly old and tired, <br />The mirrors are never as kind, <br />We venture out in a world that changed <br />As our youth slipped far behind; <br />We only walk at a snail's pace <br />And shiver in autumn rain, <br />Then stop to rest, as the evening light <br />Draws down on us, once again. <br /> <br />The young look on, but they never see <br />They'll be old one day, like us, <br />They think we live in some cobweb dream <br />And just fade away, and rust; <br />When I come in from the world outside <br />And shutter the outer door, <br />I see my lover still waits for me <br />As she's done so often before. <br /> <br />I tend to gaze at her longer now, <br />To capture her in my mind, <br />We're not too sure of the time we've got <br />So we tend to be more than kind, <br />I kiss her gently and watch the glow <br />Of stars, at the back of her eyes, <br />And she opens up like a flower in spring <br />At a touch, or a sweet surprise. <br /> <br />Then many an evening, after dark <br />When the wind howls up at the moon, <br />I gently unwrap my sweetest gift <br />And rest my face in the gloom, <br />She sighs and soughs like a gentle breeze, <br />Leans back like a sapling bent, <br />And touch is a pit at the end of the world <br />Where our last few days are spent. <br /> <br />5 March 2008<br /><br />David Lewis Paget<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/getting-old/
