About Growing Old Poem by James McLain

Do not be sad
I was one of the few born lucky I guess
grace now
freely released begins to leave me.
Reaching out to grab some one
being now slow
they are moving like stars
beyond my reach.
There are more days now than back then
where I am more afraid.
Owning nothing none of my affairs
how ever small are in order.
Having given more than I ever received
such things
are remembered more by others.
Having never given enough
it is by such people rarely thought of.
The things that I dream
still mostly come true people dying
never things that are good
precognition doesn't work that way.
My parent's and theirs all had good shots
of living
living their lives chasing the American
dream if but by a little it out of reach.
And still I don't know when one good man
dies is he replaced by a girl
maybe a boy
or is one born to a mother that
has to be good
or like most of the other's their life a waste.
Having loved once
being crazy in love I once was
there are and still were so many sad people
that never knew love
before they got old and forgot by none other
to be remembered.