Seasons of the Body - II
Oh, those telltale bulges under your eye.
Little wrinkles crinkle, hinting, head up.
Forays not brisk, shorter cutbacks you try.
Coffee only during the morn, one cup.
Head up, great friend. Nighttime, daytime; Trusted
Sometimes dented, broken, ailing, just tired.
Clearly treasured, like old cars, but rusted.
Wintry morns bring warnings; old bones retired.
Springtime fancies flashback. Somewhere screenplays
bushwhacked teen days soundtrack of their laughter
while thoughts cutback, lifetimes move on, crossways
ever onward humbly fore-and-after.
Friend, my friend, what awesome journeys we've had.
Many long years, some roads not so mellow,
you have carried my bones well, I am glad.
So thanks! You're no quitter, my good fellow.
