Tuesday's Reflective Poem

Was wicked busy today and am teaching tonight, but I will leave you with this Daniel Hoffman poem to mull over . . .

Old Age
Daniel Hoffman

When it began he was already losing
Interest in the new work by the young.
His own, like X-rays probing, undismayed,
The self whose image brands each dread decade
In lines to which the culture's climbers clung,
Had of a sudden ceased, without his choosing,
To be novel.
Less and less inclined
Down darkness at the ends of roads to thrust
His curious, illuminating mind,
For Reality he'd take what he could trust:
The impulse of an art he couldn't stop
Reached back toward all he once by will outgrew
— Nothing so fine now, since his growing up,
No truth as telling as his youth was true.