The Old Wooden Spoon
The old wooden spoon,
chipped with the patina of age,
a thing some might have discarded,
but you cling to simply because
it has been made beautiful
About this poem.
Aging I have decided, is on the whole, a beautiful thing. Yes, I miss the vigor of my youth, but the trade-off, a life of adventure and (sometimes) well-lived, is something you don’t have when you are young.
The picture was taken at the Old House Parts store in Kennebunkport, Maine.