Revised 7/19/10
Elder
Sharp slanted sunlight
Beams through branches.
That's been my Sun for moons now.
And there's better Sun waiting for me,
Right outside the shadow of the den.
But there's been so little motivation
To get me to it.
As elders,
Our limbs grow slow and achy
Our ears don't hear and eyes don't see
As well as they used to.
We can't serve our Clan.
Now they serve us.
(We are a burden, I think.)
Apprentices clean our dens, and
Frankly I think it's a good responsibility.
But other than that,
I'll take the best of your fresh kill
And your precious herbs
To slow the process of withering away
When I was meant to die, anyway.