Arthritic tugs of pain
Hamper every movement,
Advancing every day
There’s just no improvement,
Involuntary moans
Escape me standing-up,
These bloody old-man groans
Get worse as years pile up.

Just where do they come from
These grunts of exertion,
In my youth they seldom
Ever made intrusions,
They hid within my bones
Just waiting for the day,
To become old-man groans
Accompanying pain.

Well now I think I know
The avenue they took,
They grow so ever slow
From tip of head to foot,
I know I’m not alone
When every joint is sore,
But why the old-man groans
I’m only thirty-four.
7/6/08 ADO

© Copyright 2008
Adam Parker
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