
the hours fly by
the kids are now ladies,
or suitors, or tall as trees
the days slipped by
the singles are daddies,
their last loves
now mommies…
years trickle
like pelting rain
until they reach the age of wisdom
where they cease to weather
even as the showers refuse to stop
at a certain age
we get stuck
and we feel like
decades pass
yet our youth
and dreams
they are still young
as they are olden
What a lovely, lovely post!
LikeLike
Thank you so so much!
LikeLike
🙂 My pleasure!
LikeLike
Haha. I feel the poem…
LikeLike
Yay! Thanks. Though you’re not that old…! 🙂
LikeLike
Looking forward to that “age of wisdom”. Lovely poem.
LikeLike
Thanks! 🙂
LikeLike