comes the fleeting feet of crickets zipping toward the fields

crackling wings claim the harvest, too early.

comes lust blowing through the window

the creaking bed, silent as the abandoned.

comes sore feet and crooked backs

comes bad posture and golden bed pans

comes grey hair and creased skin

some purse their lips, thin white hairs curled around the corners.

some dance, slow and smiling the cold in their bones giving back to the recklessness in youth.

comes wisdom

comes beauty

comes death

comes love, everlasting.