How is it I have grown old, old in the best of ways they call “aged” and priced and valued as such, and hard to find.
How is it I have grown old and at the same time renewed, this quiver in my hand more steady on the page.
How is it I have grown old as my dad, older still, his love nestled in my heart as a buried root.
And here as for all things and all times we are buried ourselves, our age embedded and grown inwards as we become more a part of the earth for our time on it,
more in touch with the ground from which we came, to which we return emptied and spent, old to begin once more.
Bill Pearse 
This has the feel of a 19th century poet — speaking of old. And that’s a compliment, by the way.
I’ve been writing faux-Shakespearean for a McSweeney’s piece that will surely be rejected, by my troth. It was tough to do but loads of fun trying to get the cadence and the wonky syntax.
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There’s a play I read and performed in called Alls well that ends as you like it. You should look it up! You’d enjoy the humours. And thanks for this. I was going 16th c in my humours ref there. The bodily fluid kind.
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Perhaps emotional baggage & insecurities we shed as we mature make us essentially new? This is refreshing to read!
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Could be and that would make me new big time! Happy to serve up a refreshment and thanks JJ!
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Ah, the places you take me.
Always appreciated,
thank you, Bill.
‘Age shall not weary them’
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Grateful for you David! Thank you for this.
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T.S. Eliot was barely in his twenties when he wrote, ” I grow old … I grow old …/I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.”
It was a young man’s idea of old age, but you’ve shown a keener understanding of what it really means to absorb the passing years and the wisdom they impart.
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Your comments are like poetry yourself dear sir! Gosh thank you for this. I was kibitzing about youth and old age with my daughter on the trail today to this same effect. That it’s not time bound, you know?! Be well.
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And I totally had my pants rolled up on the trail today just realizing that now. It was warm though…
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Paul Simon wrote, “How terribly strange to be seventy.”
The older I get, the more I frame it as, “How terribly strange to be.” 😬
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Right! The being and strange part for sure. Paul Simon looks oddly out of place as an older man, must feel it too. Nice little sentiment this, thank you Kevin. Be well!
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