Poem: Old age
That counted my days
A stance to reckon my paces
A dying sun has its message
Sent western to my domicile
Weirder than a powerful mage
As I gaze through the river
The clocks tick-tock faster than the dace
Without choice, nature I must embrace
As dying flowers misses the dawn
So I miss the days when man was young
But, to old age, I'm nothing but a pawn
The beauty that I wear like a crown
Is gone as daylight drives away the dawn
I look dreadful, lousier than a prawn.
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