When I think of aging
visions of nature appear poetically,
ready to be written across the page.
But my hand tremor sets script askew,
not unlike a preschooler’s
first attempt at printing their name.
Nature’s brightly pink ruffled peony
once perkily perched, quite the showy thing,
gleamed amongst garden’s greenery.
Now droops beneath residue
of last night’s thunderstorm,
struggling to hold its bloom.
Newborn gangly foal tries to gain its footing.
Youthfully romps through riotously colored fields,
bluebells and golden columbine waving in the sun.
Years later, put to pasture,
stands swaying slightly, head down,
eyes clouded, wildflowers a dull blur.
And I myself, mark changes in my body.
Steps slowing down, sometimes falter.
Veins protruding on my hands.
I reflect more and more
on what was, and what is,
and what is to come.
Perennials dance in spring’s fresh air,
stand proudly through their season.
Then wilting, lie down to disintegrate.
But their stock is strong, their lilt not forever gone.
Perennials bloom again and again and again,
one generation gifting its beauty to the next.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Will be submitting for possible publication in the dVerse Anniversary Anthology.
lillian the home poet 
Lillian, “my hand tremor sets script askew” echoes so tenderly through the poem. Your imagery of perennial bloom as legacy feels especially resonant to me ❤
Much love,
David
LikeLike
When did we start aging? I still think like I’m too young to know better.
LikeLike
Lillian, this is such a perfect description: “my hand tremor sets script askew.” I’ve been experiencing this lately myself. I spend too much typing. It’s time to practice penmanship like we did in grade school. I like the comparison of aging to perennial blooms. That resonates strongly with me.
LikeLike
Stunning writing, and you capture a beauty and grace of aging in the last stanza.
LikeLike
A thought provoking poetic reflection.
LikeLike
Lil, I just spent two hours on zoom with our three daughters working out the logistics for doing an online support group on aging. Then read this and sent it off to all of them. As I read it, I found myself nodding with each stanza, yes, yes, yes, like that and like that and like that…. My example during our little group was of a tomato plant in a container on the porch that I forgot to water. Well, actually, I didn’t forget, I just didn’t know how thirsty it was (metaphors everywhere) and I thought it was dead. But then I poured a small bucket of water on it and left it to hydrate itself, came back, and there it was, all perky, it’s arms reaching out over the bars of the cage it was in. Now, filled with life-giving water, it had the strength to burst out through the small bars of its cage and reach for the sun.
Thanks for your creativity which has been my hydration often during these days. Mary
>
LikeLike