We play at racquet sports
and bowls and swim and socialise
and organise long local walks
and Christmas meals and holidays.
We pan last night's TV,
update each other's families,
discuss the latest films we've seen
and recommend new holidays.
We analyse our ills,
admire the drama group's new play,
dissect our recent restaurant meals,
consider our next holiday.
Now cruises are much favoured -
the almost perfect combination
of foreign places lightly savoured
from quarantined accomodation.
The sky is blue and calm
the sea; we sail along relaxed,
not fearing any likely harm
from winged objects at our backs.
But up ahead they forecast storms;
conditions will deteriorate
and though the evening sun still warms,
there's nothing we can do but wait
as fading power brings concern
when things start to go wrong.
For we can't mend when we can't learn,
no longer being young.
The structure suffers from fatigue;
the frame begins to shake and creak
and though embarrassing to believe,
the vessel starts to leak.
The navigational aids won't work
and worn parts need replacing;
there isn't any way to shirk
the future that we're facing.
The sea ahead is all downhill
but it won't help us if we rage
against the dying light so we'll
just carry on cruising through old age.
