By Beryl Spencer-Scarr

2002

Growing old is something that sneaks up on you,

it arrives when you least expect it.

It creeps in the back door and silently

waits for you to recognize it.

You are slow to notice it at first,

and then gradually you find that your balance

isn’t as good as it used to be,

and the spring in your step is replaced by a careful tread.

Taking a slower pace you soon forget the need to rush about,

and feel content to sit silently or walk slowly.

You can focus on the antics of a butterfly or a moth,

but you lose the thread of a sermon on a Sunday morning.

Tears roll down your cheeks very easily

when you hear a sad story,

but you don’t cry so much about the death of a friend.

You feel pain in your body at night

and long for the relief of sleep,

and then you greet it in the morning

like a friend returning from a journey.

You think about death and know that you are not unique,

and that as sure as the sun will rise in the morning, so will it set.

As sure as each seed planted in the womb will grow and mature,

so will it fade a die.

You look to your time not with fear and anxiety,

but with love for what has been and sincerity for what will be