I look into my glass,
And view my wasted skin,
And say, ‘Would God it came to pass
My heart had shrunk as thin!’
For then I, undistrest
By hearts grown cold to me,
Could lonely wait my endless rest
But Time, to make me grieve,
Part steals, lets part abide;
And shakes this fragile frame at eve
With throbbings of noontide.
One Reply on “I Look Into My Glass”
It seems to me that the question re what does it mean to grow old, can only be understood as an integral and vital part – but yet only a part – of some bigger questions – like what, does it mean to be human – what does it mean to be a human who needs to live in relationship with other humans – what are the particaularities of ageing that relate to the particular place and moment in time in which find we happen to find oursleves alive.