Old Age


Old age begins as a train ride
Through the Storylands of yesteryear,

Swiftly we travel, alone or in company.
Our ticket is costly
And our luggage bears the requisite sticker
Called, "Gratitude".

A whistle blows as we near the station,
Joints creaking, we step on the platform.
Train rides are over.
Old age is the turtle, not the hare.