Tempis fugit, the old man said,
As he pillowed his weary head.
I'm just not what I used to be,
Time, at last, has caught up with me.
That lively gait, so full of pep,
Is now a slower, faltering step.
Eyes that once were so very good,
Now see things through a misty hood.
Fingers once sensitive, now fumble around,
Allowing things to tumble down.
In each life there comes a day,
When the aging process has it's way.
The years indeed, have taken their toll,
What a tragedy it is, for us who grow old.

by William Otto

Other poems of WILLIAM OTTO (2)

Comments (1)

Good thing that we have grown old and live to tell the tale. Very good poem.