Poetry by Annushka

Old Age


Old age, why don't you come alone?
Why bring along unwanted quests,
who disregard the wishes of
this tired host who never rests?
While others in their slumber sleep
I count the heads of woolly sheep.

Old age, you crept in silently.
At first I hardly noticed it:
few aches or pains, and wrinkles too;
some graying hairs that nicely fit
my brand new clothes which also grew
as I put on a pound or two.

But back to these unwelcome pests
who seem to think they run the show.
They order me around each day
and tell me when to stop or go.
It must be fun to watch me bow.
Old age, why bother me right now?

However there are benefits
to aging and its strange rewards:
like wisdom from experience
that should receive the high awards.
Yet why it seems the younger folk
do take it only as a joke?

And what about some qualities
that take a while to sprout and grow
like sympathy or tolerance
that hardly any young ones know?
There was a time when elders were
the sage who helped the connoisseur.

Old age, you've changed your role in life.
Why stamp us with the word "reject"
and shove us into nursing homes
that teach us we're somehow defect.
We yearn back to the village well,
to be the pros of show and tell.


� 2004 Anne Maarit Ghan

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