What Is the Measure of My Days?
—after Psalm 39:4
When I was young, I saw the old:
_The lines across his face.
Eye bags. Hand veins. Sagging skin folds.
_His cane. His worn knee brace.
And yet grandpa’s enduring smile.
_The sweet smell from his pipe.
The workshop where he nailed and filed.
_The cherries picked, so ripe.
Now I am old. My face has sags.
_I have a gimpy knee,
No longer strutting with youthful swag.
_My weekend binge? Sweet tea.
We seniors know each day is dear—
_we’re much attuned to time.
How much our faith competes with fear.
_So many steps to climb.
Our time winds down. Next year? Next week?
_Today’s the day we cope.
It’s true we’re old, our joints do creak.
_We’ve nothing left but hope.
Peter Venable has been writing poetry for fifty years and his poems have appeared in The Lyric, The Merton Seasonal, The Christian Century, and other publications. More of his work can be found at petercvenable.wordpress.com. His “Roofless Church” merited an Honorable Mention in The Best Poems of 2024 in the SCP’s International Poetry Competition.
