Trees and newly mowed grass.
A winding driveway through pines.
Squirrels fretting about.
The birds carrying on around a nest.
Two rocking chairs on the porch.
I’m old now, I have to be. My ideas
are changing, I appreciate all this.
The grass, flowers, trees, and shrubs.
Can it be that I have become the person
I use to feel sorry for, the ones with no life.
Does getting down to basics, enjoying
all the gifts that have nothing to do with
man, but Mother Nature hands out freely,
make me old now, I think so.
A winding driveway through pines.
Squirrels fretting about.
The birds carrying on around a nest.
Two rocking chairs on the porch.
I’m old now, I have to be. My ideas
are changing, I appreciate all this.
The grass, flowers, trees, and shrubs.
Can it be that I have become the person
I use to feel sorry for, the ones with no life.
Does getting down to basics, enjoying
all the gifts that have nothing to do with
man, but Mother Nature hands out freely,
make me old now, I think so.
How could I be at this place, my mother’s
stage in life, where being alive is such a joy
because a daisy bloomed today.
2 comments:
Your poem is thought-provoking, Judy.but I truly don't think your appreciations of little things make you 'old.' I think they make you 'observant' and a poet!
Like Mary, I don't see gaining joy from appreciation of nature, detail, the moment as being connected to being "old". I know I am not young but I don't feel old, either, and don't see you or any of our other HCC/Skywriter friends as old. I absolutely love the line ending "because a daisy bloomed today."
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