I tell my students I’m old. They laugh at me. I’m not sure whether they laugh because they think of me as young (improbable; they are between 16 and 17 years of age, that time in one’s life when anyone over thirty seems impossibly ancient) or because I’ve made a statement which is so patently obvious as to be ridiculous. I’m kind of betting on the latter.
To prove it, may I present…This:
It comes while we sleep, I think
Not with a single clamorous leap
Or shout of dread
But silent, stealthy, creeping to place
One toe upon the bed.
So now, its your turn. Send me a poem, ten lines or less, about something as inevitable as it is bittersweet. I dare ya!
Meantime, Happy Writing.