Birthday Letters

A poem I recently wrote to a good friend for her birthday.

Every year the mail box harbors a few,
Their spidery script rambling aimlessly
Over crumpled sheets of yellow hue.
Happy Birthday, the card says soundlessly.

How curious, this relic of bygone days,
That solace can be found in hurried writing,
Even as a child’s sure path fades away,
And in deep waters we now are floundering.

And yet while words may offer little courage
As we gaze down this precipice of uncertainty
Hope is kindled in that someone else on life’s stage
Is too, strapped into this ride towards senior citizenry.

Perhaps from now on we may all only grow old together.
But as Browning did famously wrote in ages of yore,
Growing old together may just be an endeavor
One which is well worth growing old for.