Thursday, 03 January 2013
On Age
By Marc Leavitt of Marc Leavitt's Blog
When young, I thought my grandfather was old,
His hair was white; my father was his son.
His boyhood, long behind him, he re-told
Me stories freighted full of deeds he’d done.
We sat upon the porch those summer nights,
He smoked cigars, and talked about his youth,
Recalling early dreams, and sweet delights,
Before the job of life became his truth.
I’m older now than he was at that time,
And understand the yearnings of his soul,
I’ve run the race, and won it in my prime,
Time passes on, and still we seek the goal.
Age merely shows us all a path to go,
It lights a way to join the passing show
[INVITATION: All elders, 50 and older, are welcome to submit stories for this blog. They can be fiction, non-fiction, poetry, memoir, etc. Please read instructions for submitting.]
Posted by Ronni Bennett at 05:30 AM | Permalink | Email this post
Comments
Verify your Comment
Previewing your Comment
This is only a preview. Your comment has not yet been posted.
As a final step before posting your comment, enter the letters and numbers you see in the image below. This prevents automated programs from posting comments.
Having trouble reading this image? View an alternate.
Very touching and very true..it reads as much like a short story as a poem, that's a gift for story telling for sure...thank you for sharing..
Posted by: Mary Follett | Thursday, 03 January 2013 at 09:28 AM
I especially like the last line, for it is so true, and comforting. And the goal we seek now is not the same as the ones we used to have. And that is sooooo nice! Wonderful style, thank you.
Posted by: joanne zimmermann | Thursday, 03 January 2013 at 09:57 AM