Growing Old

The days grow shorter,
the nights grow longer;
the headstones thicken along the way;
and life grows sadder,
but love grows stronger
for those who walk with us day by day.

The tears come quicker,
the laugh comes slower;
the courage lesser to do and dare;
and the tide of joy
in the heart falls lower,
and seldom covers the reefs of care.

But all things in the world seem truer,
and the better things of earth seem best,
and the friends are dearer,
as friends are fewer,
and love is all
as our sun dips west.

Then let us clasp hands
as we walk together,
and let us speak softly
in low sweet tone,
for no man knows
on the morrow whether
we two pass on . . . or but alone.

by:  Ella Wheeler Wilcox