Why must we grow old and so terribly vain?Complaining bitterly about the economy?And muttering constantly about the ceaseless rain?Suffer from aching joints that creak and pop,hardly able to shamble around the shop,trying desperately not to stumble on air,and convinced that no one hears the things we swear!Still running after the grandchildren (at a walking pace),and …
Continue reading My Poetry. Old age.
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