I am more anxious ev'ry single day,
As I get older rain keeps falling down
And turns to mud the path that was my way;
With ev'ry step I slip, losing ground.
I thought I'd feel calmer after sixty,
But it is not so, fears only increase;
Everything seems tentative and iffy,
The only certainty the great decease.
But even that hovers in the future,
A wished for sunset on an endless beach,
A fantasy of elegant closure,
A fine farewell that lies beyond my reach.
It isn't fear of dying that disturbs my sleep,
It's that the Grim Reaper will take me piece by piece.