DO I WANT TO GROW OLD?

I saw a man today,

age-ed, tottering,

with sparse white hair.

He moved so slowly

as if wading through

knee deep water,

waves breaking against him,

causing his steps to falter.

The bag of groceries was too heavy;

opening the car door exhausted him.

He hauled the bag into the back

and gradually, so carefully,

slipped into the driver's seat,

where he rested.

He had to gather his strength

to be able to drive.

Do I want to grow old?

Maybe if I were in a place

where the old are revered and

treasured, it would be alright.

I wonder what it will be like,

this aging, these slow steps

toward the grave.

© Ellie Ferejohn Maziekien

3/25/00


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