Tempus Fugit

We are middling old,

muddling words, forgetting names,

becoming gnomes, shrinking fast,

fearing lost memories.

We, the quondam young,

knew yin and yang, hated parents

ignored their guidance, protested loud,

sometimes laid each other.

You will also age,

ever-so fast; good looks lost,

shaking your fist, and feeling bitter,

you will matter no more