A gentle stroll
Ends in you
Laid out of the grass
Next to a grave

You recall the night
Describing the evening to friends
As your legs gave way
We laugh

Except you are old
And ill
The wine and lager damage you
Alone in a crematorium

Half a century ago
The story would be different
The laugh would be genuine
Not laced with fear

It’s weird how age
Changes the viewpoint
Independence and freedom become loneliness
Foolishness becomes danger

Grass stains were a sign of a fun night
Now they remind me to leave my number with a neighbour