It Creeps

 

 

 

It has crept into my writing

It has seeped into my thoughts

And it’s burrowed deep within my everyday –

 

It chips away upon my looks

And nibbles at my wealth

I hear it in the things that people say –

 

I feel it in the steps I take

It’s with me now I’m sure

Each sunrise gives me hope for a reprieve -  

 

No longer in the rat race

Seems life has passed me by

And they limit any hope of getting cheese –

 

The thing with age I’ll tell you

It creeps upon you fast

And snatches youth before you blink an eye

 

It permeates your poetry

and you wake to realize

You only write about the things that die

 

(OK, no more dismal poems.  I've got it out of my system).