Coming Of Age
When an infant small
I could not feed
Myself at all.
My food came from
Your hand.
Now
In brokenness
Of a fall
To our distress
You are fed
But from my hand.
In this maturing of
Coming of age
We are both nourished
For a different stage.
Simon C.J. Falk 19 July 2019
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There's a new sun burning, and soft fruits ripening, my precious grizzled tresses tumbling, Dylan's humming 'The times they are a changing', these parting verses are mere shadows merging ...
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Simon's still stanza 
It’s very evocative Simon –
It is. Thank you, Susan.
Hi Simon – sadly, so true – it’s the way life takes us … Susan says it all – cheers Hilary
Indeed Susan does, Hilary. Thank you for adding your comment to it.