By Andrew R. Duckworth
Sometimes, I feel as though
35 hit me hard and kept on going,
Without the courtesy to stop
And see if I’m okay.
It left plenty of gray,
Some new muscle aches,
A bit quicker pace
On the ticking clock.
Left me back in the past
Seeing if I can last
As the new comes
To sweep the old away.
35 hit me hard and kept on going.
I’ll post a ‘slow’ sign for 36.
Poetry of Andrew Ryan Duckworth 