Oh...

Oh these hands, these frugal things
They create. They form.
They dig and worm in the dirt looking for shiny pieces of old metal.
Looking for life in things long dead.

Oh these feet, these weary things
The miles they have traveled could circle the earth, and still
So many more lie ahead, waiting to be uncovered,
Discovered and appreciated, much like our hearts.

A quick glance in the rear-view mirror brings joy.
Behind you, stopped at the light, sits an old friend in his old brown car.
First thought: he has aged more than you.
Second thought: we are the same age.
Third thought: How old am I?

Oh these years, these fleeting things
They shorten with age. They bring about a new you, unfamiliar and changed.
But it is a good you, a better you.

Oh these memories, these wonderful things
They fade in and out at times. They bring back joy long-forgotten.
They teach the lessons people can’t. They stand, though at times hazy.
When all else fails, they alone remind you of who you were, who you are,
And what you always dreamed of being.

Oh these hearts, these breakable things
Fragile, and sometimes seemingly broken beyond repair, but still
Capable of so much compassion, love.

Oh these souls, these beautiful things
Adept to dream, believe.
Unwilling to surrender, and willing to live.