I used to be a participant

and now I am an observer.


I used to do

and now I watch.


I used to be involved

and now I am detatched.


I feel fortunate that

I’ve been allowed

to grow old this way


What I worry about is:

what will become

of the world?



I worry much less about:

what  will become of me

when I  have vanished

from my place on earth.?

This entry was posted in Poems. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply