Romantics About Old Age Poem by shimon weinroth

promised in our old age,
we would have solitude
pleasant and sublime
happiness and security

filled with memories
satisfying and sweet,
and it came to pass
that old age caught up,

it's not one particular
day of reckoning,
that came knocking on my chest
short gasps of-

pains of rheumatism
malfunctioning of the plumbing,
it's not the pain and slowing down
that follows me around,

not even the glee and merry
laughter echoing
of a new generatiion abounding
can compensate, all on its own

solitude when sought
soon filled with electronic buzzing
Hybla bees stinging with their poison
and false promises of honey

waves of fear appear,
of being left
alone with memories
all of your own,

memories crowded with others
wings spread in flight and delights
winging their way, alighting,
then vanishing into a fog of recall

returning only in part when summoned
by the bugles of whim and fancy