I love getting old
There are things that are no longer
Young in the world—like sitting at the bus stop
Before it was always about getting to work on time
Now the next stop is death so I am not in a hurry
I just sit and wait, smile and talk and soak in the sunshine
There are so many stories at the bus stop—
Some happy, some very sad
Sometimes I have to stop and let it all go
Knowing I can’t heal their pain but I can bless—
Quietly in my own mind and I wonder
If the universe is listening
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