Everything is Growing Old
There’s a battered old six string
Sitting by the old wood stove
Right next to my old dog
He’s too damn old to rove
There’s my old pair of cowboy boots
My old black Stetson hat
Old books on the bookshelf
The old chair where she once sat
I sip my tea from an old chipped mug
On my old desk stained with time
Look down at these old hands
Are those old wrinkles really mine
No, not much new in this old place
Even the tears on my cheeks are old
Finish my tea head for our old bed
Lost love’s stories growing old.
Regis
your write always have melody
pax a
When times are stressful, I feel their weight on my skeleton, for sure...
Chrissy
Profound piece Fee..
Vesna :)
*Are those old wrinkles really mine*
I love it!
Peace. Joyce
Thank you,
Joselyn
I'll be gone for a while...to Florida to a wedding. Keep the faith and may all positive energies come your way.
Love,
Susan
The secret is not to look in the mirror..;-)
Stay young in your mind..
Peter
Love Tinka
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in Tx., Karen Lynn. :D
Myrna
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
Love,
CJ
p.s. you aren't old
This poem holds such a heavy feeling of weariness...one I am familiar with.
Susan