Growing Old Poem by Bruk Renwick

Growing Old

Rating: 5.0


As he rubbed,
the grey whiskers on,
his wrinkled chin,
he contemplated,
his life thus far.

His first memory,
from the age of two.
Now at eighty-five,
He lived for,
his rose garden.

Growing Old
Saturday, June 6, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: gardening,growing old,retirement
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Bruk Renwick

Bruk Renwick

Sydney, Australia
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