Not every fallen statue frowns,
embittered by the lust for crowns
that knocks all empires to their knees
then stamps them flat, like combed-out fleas.

Not every fossil died in vain
attacked by monsters, racked with pain
contorted to a tortured form
like flimsy branches in a storm.

Not every old car is a wreck
made obsolete by new car tech
then left to rust in a backyard
with other crap that we discard.

Age isn’t always punishment
some cruel final torment sent
to bring the sharp pain of hindsight
to those who’ve sung the sun in flight.

Age does not weary every head
make all the old wish they were dead,
it does not shake all fragile frames –
a gust upon weak candle flames.

Yes Time can wound and turn and twist –
its mastery we can’t resist.
That doesn’t mean we are its slaves
to be pushed into waiting graves.

The years that pass like falling leaves
are not lost moments to be grieved
but chance to dance in changing woods
to live a while, to feel what’s good.

Taken from my free e-book Up The Old Road.