Fear not age: A poem 

Age like an eagle swoops 

in hungry, speedy loops 

And the helpless trembling hare 

falls into death’s snare 

Of what ends are dreams composed 

if the river only runs its course 

And fate is all too sure 

A pot of clay cannot endure 

Yet, if we measured our lives 

only in stones and knives  

in anguish’s whirlpool the mind would dive 

and there’d be no honey in the hive 

So, let us know the moments we bore 

without a care for what’s in store 

is the bliss of every today 

and fears of age’s lithe will slip away