Babes in arms we once were
at the family reunion,
held with care;
older holding younger
we were all there.
Three generations of vibrant folk
born of Grandpa and Grandma,
a heritage we shared.
We filled the white farmhouse,
in the yard children played
all throughout the afternoon
until no longer day.
Then the Patriarchs left us
in more ways than one
and the children
formed their own families
but still got together some.
But now they too are fewer,
only a remnant remain
and seldom are they with each other -
it will never be the same.
What is most startling of all
is that as my lifetime
continues to unfold -
I see those of us who are left to remember -
are now Grandchildren Growing Old.