We slip into old age,
Like a lukewarm bath
Complacent with each inch of wet
Knowing it won't last.
We walk in fields with the Seasons,
ankles brushing dry grass.
Green turns to orange lesions
As we watch our moments pass.
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 1:22 PM UTC
We slip into old age,
Like a lukewarm bath
Complacent with each inch of wet
Knowing it won't last.
We walk in fields with the Seasons,
ankles brushing dry grass.
Green turns to orange lesions
As we watch our moments pass.