A sonnet by Lois Krogh. Comments Lois, "I thought of what my mom was fond of saying, 'Growing old is not for the faint of heart.' But isn't there a blessedness to humilty, a strengh in weakness, an intimacy to dependence?
The month and years run quickly to an end
While I move ever slower through a day
Forgetting many things along the way.
The faint of heart find not old age a friend.
With greater effort I my garden tend.
My eyes with trouble focus on the page.
My ears hear muffled words that others say.
From pain and illness I am slow to mend.
But in my soul His handiwork I see.
The final steps of sanctifying grace.
Becoming like a child, gray hair makes wise.
My weakness gives more strength to those in need.
Dependence turns my gaze upon His face.
The meek are blessed and heav’n shall be their prize.