In the autumn of life, when everything has been said,
All hopes and expectations are all but not yet dead,
Misty memories are all there is left to cling to,
With alzheimer knocking at the door too,
The echo of days long past,
Flood the failing mind,
Oh, how very fast,
Nothing to find!
And yet,
In still warm cinder,
One may still be able to get,
Something worth the trouble to concider,
Something to forget, many to cherish, more to regret,
For not always is the sea placid, sometimes it poses a threat.
Whatever colours may our autumn display,
Be it of golden brown or even gloomy gray,
Whether our mind is dull or sharp as a knife,
Man, it’s really doggone cool to be alive!
Comments
Hey ryyysss,
An amazing poem. I learned some new words.
Thanks :)
Your poem is a good example to talk about age. Expressing this with a healthy dose of humor is not that simple. Well done! Thumbs up!
Dear Rysperski! You have written well about life. Your last para is amazing. I quoted here again.
"Whatever colours may our autumn display,
Be it of golden brown or even gloomy gray,
Whether our mind is dull or sharp as a knife,
Man, it’s really doggone cool to be alive!"
Oi Dara,
Thanks a bunch for gleefully repeated screwing up my lovely language.
I cannot be held responsible for your misreading the context of what I wrote nor can I be blamed for your misinterpretations of my wordings.
Yak she machj Rysperski, I like Autumn very much. I wonder why grayness, gloominess and alzheimer is related to Autumn. Thanks Rys.
Touching and poignant and true.
an awesome piece by a more awesome author!
Wow! You have written nicely.
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