Downhill

A hundred loads on every leg,
Each step is hard to take;
Burdened are the shoulders too,
By the claim that age does stake.

Like rust that breeds in ugly ways,
All joints with pain unfold;
All movement is to misery linked,
To pain old age is sold.

With a blessing does the vision fade,
To spare the mind much pain;
Wrinkled leather clothes the very form,
That once much pride did gain.

And right within there is this spark,
Ageless, timeless, pure;
Waiting earnestly for the day,
For release to be the cure.