At my age
Spring makes me wince
At all the rebirth
Of nature’s renewables
I wish aging
Could be among
To Interrupt my slow decline
With a regenerative boost
Only a pollinating elixir
Would provide
Making me younger
If only during spring
When flowers would be
Nature’s way of compensating
Both weeds and wrinkles
And aches and pains subside
So spring maintenance
Never exceeds
Ability to repair myself
And the place I nest
Where there’s no hiding
All that needs fixing

At my age
Reality matters
I must now surrender
Dreaded ladders
To another’s hammer
Whose name
I may not recall
For labor dignified
By sweat on the brow
Dirt beneath fingernails
Work done with pride
I can do
No longer
That splattering of paint
On my little house
Made so much brighter
Lifting spirit and mind
Over an old body
As if spring is more attitude
Than blossoming flowers
And gratitude for names
I will try harder to remember.