On Being the Age of Us

Boomers, beware! The seasons are changing,
Paths rearranging and fading fast.
The soft silent Spring that rained on your Summer is
Fumbling, tumbling into the past.

Try as you may to stop time in her paces,
She flashes many faces,
Escapes without traces.
And though you may witness
Her bounty of graces
You know she must win in the end.

She doles us her favors on limited basis
To run out our races
In various places.
With all of the gusto good harvest embraces
She dons the mock mask of a friend.

But those of our age
Are not fooled by her witness.
We’ve seen where her
Nightmarish limits reside.
We live in our moment
Secure in our hour
With faith in the prize
On the other side.

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