I've become wanton as I wither.
Because old age
is not a time for growing.
It is a time of leaving
of letting go
unbridling all the love
I've held in check since childhood
and sending it to places where hearts
are dry. I do it wantonly, before I die.
When next you see a withered leaf
fluttering like a newborn in a tree,
stop and say hello: that's me.
and if you're dry, come close
and put your lips to me.
I'll send you love, and you send love to me.
~ Phil Sheridan | October 2014