Deborah Downes

Dying Embers

Old man….
bent but not broken
forgetful but still wise
yet fire burns brightly
in your rheumy blue eyes.

Old maid….
bent but still standing
‘lone yet longing to share
with her gnarled palsied hands
she desires to care.

Old age….
a curse but reward
relentless but gentle
its light slowly fades out
like a flick’ring candle.

Old folks….
living yet dying
weakening but still strong
like hot glowing embers
they can’t burn for too long.

Poem Submitted: Saturday, January 30, 2010

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