As the years turn

As the years turn

Recovery from mishap

Is slower

Even the smallest things

Offer a challenge

Breathing is still

An autonomic response

Completed

With little regard

For the complexity

Of mechanics

How easily

The will to move

Is lost

As oxygen thins

In the blood

To the point of paralysis

Confidence is a stranger

At the door

Where there is hesitation

In the opening,

To allow entrance

Might prove costly

As it is not just an ego

That can be bruised

Old bones

Are but dry twigs

Lacking the vitality

Of spring,

Autumn leaves

With a delicate crunch

As the burden

Of every loss

Is weighed with

Increasing debilitation,

Looking forward

Is a tentative step

Fraught with the fear

Of what might be lost

In a confusion

Of disconnect

When old models

Are deemed incompatible

With modern techniques

And further adaptation

Remains

Beyond the pale