In youth the days are short and the years are long; in old age the years are short and the days long. ~Nikita Ivanovich Panin, Russian statesman

My neighbor doesn’t seem to sleep
His light comes on at four.
Sometimes outside the blinds I peep
And watch him pace the floor.

Behind his walker off he rolls
Back and forth and back.
His carpet must be filled with holes
At least in one small track.

He turns the TV on at five
And thus it stays all day.
Surely not a man alive
Can tolerate that sway.

He used to go to work, I guess,
Made time to have some fun,
Read a book, played some chess,
Chauffeured daughter and son.

I know he used to mow the lawn,
Raked leaves and blew the snow.
Now he seems to greet the dawn
With television show.

He doesn’t put on makeup
No breakfast does he cook.
So why this early wake up
From his quiescent nook?

I guess the older that we get
The more we know for sure
Our time, no matter how we fret,
On earth is never sure.

We think we’re busy when we’re kids
We’re always on the go.
When old age comes we’re on the skids
And life becomes real slow.

Note: Part true; part fictionalized. You can guess, if you’d like, which is which, but I’m not telling, in deference to those described!