On the Threshold

Behold,
When you grow old,
Life takes a different fold,
As the virtuous values you’d still love to uphold,
Now seem abused, trampled, and untold.

Your body enfeebles and surrenders its bold:
For you breath is doled
Out in miserable gasps and rasps all sold.
Life once glittered and gleamed with brilliance and radiance of gold;
Now it’s mucky and murky, covered with impure immoral mold.

You’d love to put a smile upon faces gone cold,
But the cold catches cause—gluey upon the countenances that give it hold.
Life becomes slippery; you can no longer afford a firm foothold.
And sooner or later you realize you’re standing still on the threshold,
Leading far away from this place that once was your true stronghold.