Tuesday, January 27, 2015

Growing old


I must have thought back then
It would be enough to feel well
When I grew old, but it isn’t.
Susan needs a new liver.
My sister is too ill to see
Or hear or walk, and my brother
Is still recovering from cancer.

They are all here part of me.
Staring through the window
This morning at tree leaves
Still wet from an all-night rain
I watched a flock of unfamiliar
Birds throw themselves through
The leaves scattering the rain,

Delightedly chasing each other.
I thought of Hardy’s poem, and
We weren’t like that.  I stopped
Working on my computer.
They were too absorbed to notice
Me watching; too busy to
Care about how old I was.

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