Life is a journey

Just as I used to say

love comes harder to the aged

because they've been running on the

same old rails too long

and then when the sly switch comes along

they miss the turn

and burn up the wrong rail while

the gay caboose goes flying

and the steamengine driver don't recognize

them new electric horns

and the aged run out on the rusty spur

which winds up in the dead grass where

the rusty tin cans and bedsprings and old razor

blades and moldy mattresses lie

and the rail breaks off dead right there,

though the ties go on awhile

and the aged say to themselves, Well,

this must be the place

we were suposed to lie down.

And they do.

while the bright saloon careens along away

on a high hilltop,

the windows full of bluesky and lovers

with flowers

their long hair streaming

and all of them laughing

and waving and

whispering to each other

and looking out and wondering

what that graveyard where the rails ends

is.

Lawrence Ferlinghetti

via pixdaus