On Aging

hands
photo: ALAMY

When as a child I run rampant in field

Life goes forward with every turning stone

Sunshine streaming love’s energy afield

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Our world is easy a skinned shin a shield

Upon the fears of needing to atone

For our sins as cognition will soon wield

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Certain attention seems a player’s outfield

Holds strength within difficult times we moan

Suggests our childhood an old playing field

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We now begin to dream soft a snowfield

Holds the water of spring’s lovely new moon

We dance in proms and summer soiree’s yield

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The essence of love, shared lives grow downfield

While worlds now become intertwined and grown

Thrusting forth decisions, futures that shield

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Our lives mix in the throes while ideals yield

True our nature of protecting our own

We age with grace and elegance; we yield

When children we love run rampant in field

Please I would love you to share words, suggestions …