Category: Aging

At twenty two I’ve had enough
Of punching whiskers that are tough,
And if at this yet early date
I gripe and swear at unkind fate,
What kind of guy’ll I turn into
Along about, say, eighty two?

by Ray Romine Friday, January 13, 1933

If the talk turns to stairsteps , I’ll make this sage
Observation: Their steepness is geared to one’s age.

by Ray Romine Wednesday, May 24, 1950

The wishes that belong to youth
Lead later to this simple truth:
Our adult pleasures stand no show
To what we hadn’t, years ago.

by Ray Romine Sunday, August 26, 1951

There’s an old stone wall that’s almost down
Over on the other side of town.
It’s not so pretty in many ways
As it must have been in its earlier days,
And yet a fascination there
Hits me hard when I pass and stare.
It’s green with algae; it drips with moss,
And though it’s old, there’s no sense of loss
About that wall–it is grim and sage
And, indifferent, it dares old age
In a way I should like to when I grow old
And my cells are mossy, and down, and cold.

(I shall have no plaints, if, after all,
I still can learn from an old stone wall.)

by Ray Romine Tuesday, October 8, 1946

Grandpa’s grinning from his chair
Since dancing’s changed from round to square.
I’ve tried it, and I’ve proved to me
I’m not the man he used to be!

by Ray Romine Monday, May 22, 1950

Don’t call me “old”–when I can thrill
To the yellow of a daffodil.
Each unseen wind that faintly blows
Takes me along. A scarlet rose
Will stop me, breathless, on the path.
I nightly brave the first star’s wrath
By claiming it for mine. My dears,
Thoughts are not hampered by the years!

by Ray Romine Sunday, April 30, 1950

I have a notion I’m growing old:
I doze while reading, and mind the cold;
I’d rather not go–I prefer to sit;
And I’ve no will left, for I just submit.

A shiny car–even clothes all new
Convey no thrill like my slippers do.
My middle’s bulging, my suits advise;
I read of sports for my exercise.

My curiosity’s even dead:
New folks next door, and–what’s that you said?
A well-built lovely with hair spun-gold?
Hand me my glasses–I’m not so old!

by Ray Romine Sunday, January 20, 1946

Tell me I’m sitting in clover;
Encourage me, cheer me, go on;
Say that life’s only half over–
But the half I am sure of is gone.

Preach attitude, and the old fable
A man’s just as old as he feels;
Ignore my gray hairs, and at table,
My too-close attention to meals.

Regale me with stories inspiring
Of folks who, much older than I,
Got rich through their efforts untiring,
Sheer pluck, and the old College Try.

Assure me I’m peppy as Rover,
And while I am breathing What Rot,
Repeat life is only half over–
The half I can count on is shot.

by Ray Romine Thursday, March 15, 1951

I notice that the steps I climb
Get somewhat steeper all the time;
It’s true too, those I sit and wait in
Are those sports I participate in.
I walk far less–I never run;
While others swim, I lie and sun.
Taboo, badminton and hop-scotch–
For exercise I wind my watch,
Or read a magazine, to find
Old age is but a state of mind?

by Ray Romine Friday, August 31, 1951

Whatever life may hold of treasure,
It becomes apparent it’s
Dependent in a generous measure
Now, upon what Time permits.

Life is fine; what stands above it?
But each year there’s a bit less of it…

by Ray Romine Sunday, January 7, 1951