Wandering Thoughts

I wish someone had told me that
the years would fly so quickly,
fleeing from the present into the past.
The babies became parents; I became old;
my mind became murky and muddled,
playing hide and seek with memory.

I wish someone had told me that
I would be tired and weathered so soon.
Inside I'm only twenty-six, yet
the mirror says I've lived each
of sixty-some years. How can it be?

I wish someone had told me that
I would so soon face a future alone,
my love leaving me to wait on Jordan's
far and distant shore. Like a candle
flickering in a ceaseless breeze,
his breath falters and fades.

I wish someone had told me that
joys never die, only mellow
and finally become comfortable embers
of fires no longer burning brightly,
throwing smaller shadows on the walls.

I wish someone had told me that
life ends too soon.