Now 62, I wrote this in my mid-thirties. I still find it to be true…
Age is time worn out
by all the shifting winds
cutting into what is soft
leaving what is hard
Age is seeing the end
and knowing the life blood
will color the sand
before the heart is done
Age is the ache of all
that is unsaid and undone
beneath the weight
of regret’s heavy hand
Age is time spent.
© 2025 Joyce Martin. All rights reserved
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