When I Am Old #Poem

When I am old,
I will only be old
to those younger than I am,
unless I’m still in chronic pain,
which makes me old already.

When I am old,
I will have some leisure time
to smell the wild huckleberries,
pick what I need,
and bake pies to share.

When I am old,
I won’t see the cumulonimbus clouds passing,
but I will sense them
as I sense everything.
I will learn their secrets.

When I am old,
I will sit on the porch
that I don’t have yet,
enjoying the verdant Springtime.
The grass is always greener after Winter.

When I am old,
I will still take in life
like a new spice market.
Because old or not, pain or pleasure,
I am here!

When I am old
and my candlelight grows dim,
I will reflect on my life.
It’s not polished to perfection like antique brass,
But… it… is… good!

My response to Linda Kruschke’s
Paint Chip Poetry Prompt #37, When I’m Old.

I’m glad this didn’t turn out to be a sad poem!

8 thoughts on “When I Am Old #Poem

  1. I would love a piece of one of your huckleberry pies and to eat it with you on the porch that you don’t have yet. If you get the pies before the porch, you can bring the pie to my house and we can eat it on my back deck and you can listen to the hummingbirds and wrens while we eat.


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