A couple of verses from an ageing poet who wrote this 20 years ago sprung to mind this sunny Arizona morning.
But having seen the surge of youth, the sag of age
in breast and chest and everything,
in breast and chest and everything,
I still say Spring is overrated. Age is better.
Less is expected of the once firm chest that drags
a little lower, the robust voice reduced to murmur,
Less is expected of the once firm chest that drags
a little lower, the robust voice reduced to murmur,
speaking slower.
Age can finally say aloud what it really feels and
thinks in after dinner company or crowd.
No one blinks. If they do, no matter.
Age erases pretence; replacing it with sense.
Age is proof you got from there to here.
Alas, so many that you loved
did not complete the journey. You mourn them, yes,
and always will, but age is such a triumph over youth,
again, because you moved across the years to here.
Leaving there where it belongs
for youth to come along and re-discover.
KR
