How sad it seems, those passing years
from youth to elderhood.
Sometimes we yearn to bring them back--
those years, if we just could.
Life seemed so sweet and simple then,
when we were twenty-one.
Our days were filled with ideal plans
of how we'd get things done.
With cares, our minds weren't cluttered up.
We lived just for today.
That trials and snares could set us back,
those thoughts we'd push away.
But time is heartless, sometimes cruel.
It wakes reality.
It robs youth of its simple faith
With passing years, hard lessons come.
Our ardor starts to fade.
We trade our zeal for cautious doubt.
In wariness we wade.
We muddle through our middle years,
and life becomes a chore.
Each day bumps up against the next,
and joins the one before.
As years roll over us--like wheels--
and age we can't outrun,
we shy away from unknown paths;
uncertainties, we shun.
The passing years we can't recoup.
That's true! Those years are gone.
But we can use the wisdom gained,
and gracefully march on.
© Helen Dowd.