LOSING BATTLE

The weeds reach out to grasp the life
Of every pretty planted thing
And everywhere, the leaves have blown;
Their freedom to roam, forever blowing.

The house needs paint and much repair
But where is the desire to labor there.
For once again the leaves will blow
And painted surfaces again show wear.

I see another gray hair has surfaced
And body parts are breaking down.
Put on another coat of paint
And turn that hair a shade of brown.

The years have brought their wear and tear
As ruts are carved throughout my face.
I run in vain to escape the years
But like the leaves, it wins the race.

I pull the gray hairs and the weeds
But oh such fatal works of folly.
For all my efforts are for naught;
Pretty flowers now debris.