'Old' Poem by Linda Winchell
'Old'
I feel I have always been old,
Not remembering the times of my youth.
My wrinkles deservingly earned,
While laying under sunny skies in the grass.
My knees sore from kneeling in prayer,
My hands crippling from years of usefull tasks.
I'm old.
Have always been,
Will always be.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Topic(s) of this poem: old
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8/28/2026 7:10:36 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
Some people grow old young and others grow old when old