I Don’t Want To Grow Old… Poem by Mahfooz Ali

I saw a man today
ancient, tottering,
with sparse white hair.
He moved so slowly
as if wading through
knee deep water,
waves breaking against him,
causing his steps to falter.
The bag of groceries was too heavy;
opening the car door exhausted him.
He hauled the bag into the back
and gradually, so carefully,
slipped into the driver's seat
where he rested.
He had to gather his strength to drive.
Do I want to grow old?
I wonder what it will be like,
this aging, these slow steps
towards the grave.