Getting Old Poem by David Lewis Paget

Now that we're suddenly old and tired,
The mirrors are never as kind,
We venture out in a world that changed
As our youth slipped far behind;
We only walk at a snail's pace
And shiver in autumn rain,
Then stop to rest, as the evening light
Draws down on us, once again.

The young look on, but they never see
They'll be old one day, like us,
They think we live in some cobweb dream
And just fade away, and rust;
When I come in from the world outside
And shutter the outer door,
I see my lover still waits for me
As she's done so often before.

I tend to gaze at her longer now,
To capture her in my mind,
We're not too sure of the time we've got
So we tend to be more than kind,
I kiss her gently and watch the glow
Of stars, at the back of her eyes,
And she opens up like a flower in spring
At a touch, or a sweet surprise.

Then many an evening, after dark
When the wind howls up at the moon,
I gently unwrap my sweetest gift
And rest my face in the gloom,
She sighs and soughs like a gentle breeze,
Leans back like a sapling bent,
And touch is a pit at the end of the world
Where our last few days are spent.

5 March 2008