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.