steps much slower than before
as time creeps up upon my door
trying to sing a happy song
wondering where time went wrong

pulling

In fifty years we will be nothing more than a mass of wrinkled weathered skin and fragile bones

Our memories and stories

I gaze at my bathroom mirror,
And looking back at me,
Are the telltale signs of wrinkles,
And gray hair their company.

My knees

COULD IT BE I’M GETTING OLD

Age is a thing we all must face;

We’ll all grow old some day

unless, of course,

Growing old

Mirror mirror on the wall

All alone

Discoloured photo albums

Old age home

Dementia

Hearing aid

Walking ring