I’m getting older because I haven’t died

and wiser because I seldom worry

or shake my head at foolishness.

I walk much slower now

because my legs are stiff

and know it makes no sense to hurry.

Getting older like the trees I share

this land with and the hills

where the sun rises to glisten

on the water lets me look around

and see with sadder gladder eyes--

still blue like the sky but cloudy too--

and so I squint to see the flowers

in the distance—the colors dazzling me

much more than the day before.

And when I think of love—getting older

doesn’t make the longing go away.

It’s just the memory of romance

and the touch of a lover’s skin

doesn’t fade that easily and comes

back like a waking dream late at night.

Getting older makes the music sweeter—

the crying violins, the cellos moaning,

the trumpets soaring, the drums like heartbeats

are sounds I close my eyes and listen to--

happy once again to know such lovely breathing

because I can.

Nothing takes away this knowing,

this sense more years have passed

than lay ahead and it’s this

that lets me sip my coffee slower,

savor each taste of toast and bless

each morning with another song.