Growing Old
Daylight dances across the mantel in reds, greens, and gold.
The flowers growing there look so beautiful, I must be growing old.
My cat used to warm his self in that little spot of sun.
But now he is gone forever more, the victim of my neighbors gun.
And deep inside I feel the pain of another empty space.
That leaves only loneliness and sadness in its place.
Surely, I have grown old.
Joseph Engraver