I'll probably end up
wandering on the road
Driving anonymously
Forgotten,
No one checking in,
You being the only
People to know my whereabouts
Unless I decide you too
have stopped caring.

I am aged
Graying
Haggard
Never have been one to stop for
Even less so now.

Our car, among the classics
Our things, became antique
We, turned into relics
And our friends, befit a clique

Our cottage, now the hermitage
Our home, is a relique
Our life, will be a heritage
And when we talk, it’s a critique

What we do, has grown archaic
Our habits, turned oblique
Our thinking, esoteric
But we’ve, become unique
WIZDUMBs BY JA 418

Sorrow is when your angel weeps for your soul.
Because you gave up and became cold