He sat next to me, slumped slightly over
From years of boulders piling upon his shoulders
Though he still seemed as resilient and sturdy as an oak tree
With wrinkles, like bark, beside his eyes nestled gently
Providing proof that he once laughed hard enough to cry
His white hair wrapped from the back of his aged skull to the sides
Like a mountain range hiding the village of wisdom secluded in his mind
We talked about aging and how people often expect a linear progression
But he wrung his calloused hands together
Turned his stare to the floor beneath his over worn boots and said,
“You will watch your parents and their parents age
While noting comparisons of their degenerating health to your own
But what I have come to realize is that everyone ages differently
No matter how ready or prepared you think you may be.”
SWD 03/2018
Updated 05/2018
Letting you know that you write very well. 😊
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once again!
watta beauty :’)
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Reblogged this on John Cowgill's Literature Site.
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When you are the one aging, it really is difficult knowing what to expect. You make aging sound beautiful. I need to try and look at my aging that way too. Thanks.
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This is so beautifully written
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Beautifully expressed!
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Wonderful post adn so true.
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