Withered, wafer thin, and worn—palliative, it would seem.
And all your glories seem forgotten in the pressing now, and
you lean a little more, and
you breathe a little harder, and
you respond less as the mind fails and the body falls to the damage of time and toil.
All the checked to-dos are done and seem but footnotes in a life long lived.
Though much is forgotten,
much is ahead, for
the lasting beauty in this decaying is in
the what will be.