I want to grow old
Surrounded by the yellowing pages of my favorite stories
Kept company by the histories of the epics
And the imaginations of the classics

I want to trade pieces of the newspaper
With an older version of a summer love
As we sit in matching, worn out chairs
With a sleeping lab at our feet

I want to write poems on the porch
Encased by nothing but wooden slats below and stars above
Penning down the thoughts
Inspired by the curves of the mountains

I want to grow old
Gazing out at the world
I've lived a life to see and experience
Reminding myself of the memories
Through the literature I've collected