Keep living, keep moving poem.

In the gentle march of time, under skies both clear and dim,
Grows the tree of wisdom tall, its roots deep and limbs trim.
Years, they gather like soft snow, each flake a tale to tell,
Of laughter, tears, and moments dear, in hearts, they fondly dwell.
Never do I seek the pause, the quiet of the retiring sun,
For in the dance of days and nights, there's much to be undone.
Retirement, a word so still, it whispers of a silent room,
Where shadows creep, and memories sleep, in the gathering gloom.
But I, with eyes alight with dreams, refuse the quiet call,
For life's a canvas wide and bright, and I've not painted all.
The old person, they say comes with rest, a specter of the quiet night,
But I chase the dawn with eager breath, my spirit fierce and bright.
With every year, I find the keys to doors I could not see,
The wisdom of a thousand stars, bestowed by time to me.
Yet never shall I close my eyes and wish the world away,
For in its beauty, pain, and joy, I choose to always stay.
So let the years come, as they will, with wisdom, grace, and fun,
For I am more than just my age, a journey just begun.
Retirement brings the old person in, or so the stories say,
But I shall laugh and live and love, in my own unyielding way.