Sunday, March 18, 2012

Age: A Country Poem

It's funny how this agin' changes men
We see the world inseparable from us
Until we realize that it is;
Liife goes on when we drop dead;
Only real change bein' markers, few flowers
And some tears shed for a minute;
Most of us won't be remembered
Most of them for nothing good.


  1. Few words, great meaning. Title reminds me of Shakespeare's 7 Ages.

  2. On the plus side..maybe we soak into the soil and make new flowers grow..and so we are remembered..maybe not in words..but not totally gone either..transformed?..Jae

    1. You should post that comment as a poem on your blog, Jae. It's really good!

  3. I hate funerals. Wakes. Tombstones. The dead are not present. I know, I's for the living. But must I gather with the mourners? My memory of your memory is so counter productive to the memory in mass. No funeral for me Ben. Tell them will ya....when I'm dead and gone..."she meant what she said. I believed her. She won't be there, nor will I."

    1. Will do! I'll give you a personal toast instead with wine and words :-)


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