When I am Old

Having recently become a septuagenarian, I posted this poem on FB which explains how I feel about it


When I Am Old

I SHALL not mind
The whiteness of my hair,
Or that my slow steps falter
On the stair;
Or that young friends hurry
As they pass
Or what strange image
Greets me in the glass;
If I can feel,
As roots feel in the sod,
That I am growing old to bloom
Before the face of God.

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