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.
This article appears in April 9, 2021.
Lovely, Harry. Perceptive. Right on the button – the one that popped off my old comfy shirt and rolled somewhere.
Well done Harry. The words you write – so many of us feel – but just leave alone – simple and quiet – the soul it does heal. And then, you go ahead and pick up your brush – paint what you feel – you really know how to do stuff – you are – the real deal.
Well said!
Harry! This poem is so lovely and apt. I am in the Campground, are you? Stop by 24 Butler and say ‘Hello!’.
Great poem, Harry. A factual but sensitive description of the aging process we all face.
Very nice poem. Very nice painting!
Excellent! So true! I enjoyed your characterization of our aging.
Great poem and painting. I feel like an old peeling house and no matter what…
a coat of paint is not going to help!
Ahh. Just so.
Aaah, Harry! More than ever getting older is becoming a part time job, frustrating what used to be others whose accomplishments we could see. Thanks!
Hello from Shayna’s former boss. Your words and images touch me so.
Thank you for You, Harry. You’re timeless.
Your words ring so true. Thank you for sharing them.
I desperately wish I could not relate to your beautiful words on aging, but I do! I’ve so often wished lately, that a spring renewal had somehow been worked into this process of living.
You have verbalized my thoughts, so much to do, yet aches and energy call for a restrain.
Harry, I so appreciate your craft — painting words with images and images with words.