Pity the aged body
Pity the aged body that withers on the vine;
A cycle of decay accrues each lengthy day
With no sanctuary from the passing time
Whose clock ticks, quiet, away.
You wait for the bells to softly chime
And know your life must pass away.
Aching limbs feel the relentless creak of age.
They protest but their race is run;
Weakened muscles sadly disengage
Knowing their time is nearly done.
You wait meekly for life’s final page
Cursing fate. Death has its victory won.
The mind is fading into gentle decay;
Memories confuse – some clear, some gone.
Your mind works to wickedly betray
A brain that once was clear but now is wrong.
Simple tasks cause confusion, muddled disarray;
You’re the aged fool you took pity on.
Muscular control has withered, bodily control forgot,
No dignity survives in this embarrassment;
The shame is there, the body’s not
But there’s no merit in self-torment.
Nurse has no time for you, an old fuss-pot,
Hold back those tears, conceal your discontent.
Best die now – why prolong the grief?
Your day is done, the candle’s going out;
Death now would be a relief.
The reaper’s calling for you from without,
Accept your lot – Father Time’s a deadly thief,
So you, the old, must leave, die out.