I wax Philosophic,
With thoughts of growing old.

Nature’s Wonder;
An end in time.
New Born thoughts align,
So much more to being alive.

You wonder; Why the Need?
Limits we all perceive,
You know it so well,
A need in time
A beginning anew
To seek and hope
The Beauty of Growing Old.

It is a time;
A time to render
Our Young Life’s mind,
Seen from a different sky.

We stutter, limp, and walk
To knowledge unseen,
Wisdom’s heart foreseen
From an introspective eye.

You wonder why the Need;
Limits we all perceive.
You know it well,
As the end approaches our eye
In the image of a Scythe.

I wax Philosophic,
With thoughts of new life grown

As I learn to breathe,
Learn to Walk and Run
Under my Mother’s eye.

It is a sepulcher’s wake;
To which all life follows.
A life that ends;
A life that begins,
A Changeling once upon a time.

For I wax Philosophic,
As I see the visions ahead.

Old or Young
I see a face,
A two-year-old
Each point a mind
An Infinite line.

To Nature’s Heart
A Point of Wisdom we hark,
Watching Sisyphus Climb;
Each step a struggle,
Under this mountain of Life we huddle.

We live life’s limits;
A crucible hot and joyous,
Cold and Cruel,
Our lamentations so many,
To become who we need to be.

Though our aging eye’s might dim,
Our limbs may fall asunder,
Our Hearth Hearts rest,
This beauty of growing old,
Is once again a youthful rest.

For it is the challenge;
This Shroud of Sisyphus we bare.
It’s joyous grace;
Our climb to life; heard,
In a babies cry, an Old man’s song.

For wisdom is the nature,
of an introspective life.
Such Mobius paths we lead;
Never ending hopes,
We scatter across the sky.

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