Aging

I grow old, I grow old

My bones shall shiver in the cold

With sere flesh draped, corrupt with fever,

The biting frost grows ever bold.

The cherry flush fades from lip and cheek

Defiant eyes grow dim and meek

The lightest touch will send a-tremble,

What the senile mind could put to sleep

Vital blood rushing through vital veins

Cool, thins and stagnantly pools

In spider’s silk under papery skin

Creeping up my withered limbs

At the summit of youth, first

Have I felt the horror of winter’s sway,

Beheld death’s valley spread beneath

While withered trunks line my forward way.

I first dreaded then, that breath of cold

And the thought that I, too, shall grow old,

From the creases that run from my eyes

Etched from the labours I have sold.

Then the luxuriant locks would fade

A slender figure would engorge with time

Feasted upon the ruins of the years,

A violet fast fading, a sweetness fast wasting

This joy a fruit that cloys at the tasting

Washed with the bitterness of aging.