At first, the words were sharp and clear,
But soon, they blurred, then disappeared.
At forty’s gate, it starts to show,
And as time passes, it seems to grow.
Meanwhile, the letters shrink and dance,
Forcing a longer, strained glance.
Thus, a book once held so near,
Now drifts away to bring it clear.
Furthermore, the eyes feel tired,
Aching from the work required.
Consequently, the head may ache,
A sign the lens can’t shift or break.
Nevertheless, there is some aid,
For reading glasses have been made.
In addition, bifocals shine,
Guiding vision back in line.
On the other hand, some prefer,
Lenses that make sight less blurred.
Alternatively, surgery’s key,
A way to set the focus free.
Eventually, we all may find,
That aging eyes leave print behind.
Yet, despite this fleeting view,
The world remains both bright and new.
