Outer Edge

We're at the table, lunch is spread,

old stories filling up my head.

And then it strikes me, sharp and cold,

they've lived so much, grown so old.

Their silver hair, a sudden gleam,

reflecting back a distant dream.

A knowing nod, a gentle sigh,

from eyes that have seen years go by.

I’m on the edge, the outer rim,

where life feels suddenly quite grim.

Because they’re there, and I am here,

so much to learn, so much to fear.