Is getting old just adding years
Or is it really more subtraction?
Every birthday is a celebration
Of advancing bravely life’s frontier.
But joining all the jubilation
Comes the sadder revelation
That age is not all it may appear.
For every act there is reaction.

What wisdom seniors may acquire
From yet more days to learn and grow
Is more than balanced by desire
To remember all we ought to know.
A name, a date, a skill no longer sure,
All slip away like deserters under fire.
What looks distinguished from afar
Is more illusion than a star.

Hands that sought the world to make
Can kbarely hold a grip or shake,
Backs that once stood tall and straight
Are stooped beneath the weight of fate,
And legs that strode with prideful gait
Now wobble or shuffle, cane in hand,
Wishing to sit, unable to stand.
And the care we gave we now demand.

The sharpest vision fades away,
Daily sounds grow strangely dim.
Taste and smell that once held sway
Come and go at nature’s whim.
And chests that aped Adonis’ pose
Now look like Buddha in repose.
What life gave it’s quick to take.
Age, like death, is nature’s brake.