Growing Old Poem by Brooke 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.
Saturday, June 6, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: gardening,growing old,retirement
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5/12/2024 9:16:03 AM # 1.0.0.1119
