Old Age Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

noise, NOISE, N-0-I-S-E ] the constant reminder of aging, even as you think, My life is slipping away, more of it has slipped away - and then the actual figure of death, leering, humming, in no particular rush to close the deal... Oh, my, but we are far from Andrew Marvell's AND AT BACK I ALWAYS HEAR TIME'S WINGED CHARIOT HURRYING NEAR: that is such an elegant, staid image of death, we can almost respect it. Not this clowning around - it's undignified!