The older I get
the less people to call
is it by choice
my spirit's downfall?
The older I get
the less then to care
a life once so pointed
now little to share
The older I get
to never defend
the ones that stood by me
the ones I called friends
The older I get
meat gone from the stew
the faces just names
of those I once knew
The older I get
doors lock from within
a constant reminder
that blaming can sting
The older I get
the less people to call
no sand in the hourglass
—last grain set to fall
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April,2014)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem