Growing Old

Growing old never seemed so bad.  
Sure, I pretend to moan and dread,  
My knee buckles and my back knots.  
Yet it’s another year of being alive.  
 
Growing old is a privilege,  
As another year around the sun  
Marks another year of growth.  
What else are we here for?  
 
Growing old is a privilege,  
Growing old together is a luxury.  
 
Growing old never seemed so bad.  
Yet I mourn the years we’ve lost to fate.  
Like a new book too precious to read—  
Too scared to see how many chapters are left.  
 
But books are never judged by their length,  
It’s by the way they change you.  
The way they mark themselves into you,  
Like wrinkles on skin.  
 
So worry not, take your time with fate.  
I’ll pull up a chair, a good book and coffee.  
And when you arrive, I’ll have a library—  
Of stories to share, wishing you had been there.

-K.C