If That’s True, What More Can I Say?

This is what I call a ‘telling sight’:

My hair’s less black, more white,

My back aches, my step is slow,

These tell me I’ll soon have to go.

A few years more maybe at best,

And then? Perhaps eternal rest,

Or whatever else it may so be

That will be destined for me.

Oh how swiftly time’s flown past!

Here our stay long does not last.

Of this before had I been aware,

I’d have lived with greater care,

And passed my every new day

Mindfully, and in the best way,

And maybe would’ve abstained

From deeds that badly stained,

That I can’t deny grimly mar,

The record of my life so far.

But then perhaps this can be said:

Our deeds, till we’re deemed dead,

Were all destined to occur for sure.

If that’s true, what can I say more?