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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=340706" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Musing</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=340706" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Its December. Another year is just about over.<br>Standing in front of a mirror in a bathroom<br>Is a man. He gazes into the face looking back at him, <br>Combs his white hair with his fingers and then begins to muse: </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=340706" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">My hair it seems is always whiter during<br>The winter months. It really isn’t<br>But seeing hair already gray, aging<br>Becomes a prime concern. My life, a glint<br>In darkness; insignificant footprints in time<br>Is always struggling forward, nearing some<br>Unreachable ideal, lacking rhyme<br>Or reason. Now I ponder life's outcome<br>This cold December, standing here alone<br>In front of glass. The image looking back<br>Is old! My God! Is youth that fleeting? Prone<br>Toward dependency, asthma attacks<br>And wooden canes? He winks and shakes his head<br>And smiles, then says, ” I’d sooner be old than dead.”</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Albert+Ahearn">Albert Ahearn</a></strong></div>

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