When man grows older, monsters of his
own creation will follow him to his grave.
In his earlier day he would have turned
and slain the dragons of life. Now with
graying hair and tired eyes he is weak
from too many battles.
With his rusted sword upon the ground, his
body ravaged by age and an ache in his
heart for peace...he gently surrenders
to the dragons of death.
© Joe Fazio
(brief renderings) Joe Fazio
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/let-me-now-rest/
