The older I get

Author’s Note

This poem found its voice as I wandered through peaceful village alleyways, Alan Jackson’s “The Older I Get” flowing through my headphones. The song stirred old memories and softened the space between who I was and who I am becoming. Surrounded by nature’s quiet music, these words rose from a place deep inside—a longing for youth, freedom, and the comfort of being truly myself again.

—

The older I get

The older I get,
Truer I grow to myself.
Nothing fills me with joy
Except the lap of nature—
The soft chorus of birds,
The hush of wind and leaves,
The endless green of trees and hills,
Canopies wild and whispering.

A creek murmurs somewhere,
Its sound faint but familiar.
The meh’s, the mooh’s, the distant growl—
Echoes rising from the forest’s depth,
Calling me home again.

How I wish for one more chance
To be young once more,
Wild once more—
Careless, carefree,
The boy I was
Before the world grew heavy.

I would trade anything
For that one return:
To be me,
Young again.