O’er The Hill

It is a poem about old age and its miseries. An original.

Aches and jolts,

when I dine.

Painful cracks

down my spine.


Lugging the weight of time,

memories covered in grime.

I’m almost at the end of  Life.

Tis not easy, tis a strife.


All could be borne,

all could be torn.

But my last days,

arrived with a moan.


My family, my happiness,

all flying haywire.

Like a departing aircraft,

Clearly shows my uncontrolled desire.


My once active body,

has now become passive.

The pain and the losses,

have grown massive.


With each step comes pain,

with each step comes strain.

The old memories have been brought back to me,

the moments of joy and sorrow, in mind’s eye I can see.


I have grown old,

my property I have sold.

My walking stick is Mahogany,

my age, an agony!!


Fiery eyes,

and a wrinkled face.

I am but alive,

due to His grace.


My end is near,

tis the only thing I fear.

My blood pressure drops,

my heartbeat stops.


My life is gone,

tis something only God can spawn!

Old age was a curse,

which finally led me to the hearse.

The End

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