Buster Keaton's Flower Train

There is a clip of Buster Keaton as an old man
with a little white flower balanced on his head
looking absolutely delighted with the model train
he's received for his birthday,
and for some reason it really moved me.

I don't know why, maybe I am just getting old
and sympathetic about the transfiguration of age;
just as my knees hurt me something awful after basketball,
I am not as young as I once was,
even though I am still very immature, laughing at Keaton's schtick.

We all decay, even icons who we thought were forever.
I hope these poems – like Buster's funny films – live forever.
Afterall, that's why we do anything, right?
Self preservation, legacy, fear of death.
From fostering offspring to faith in religion, we want forever to last forever.

I look at the clip of Keaton and wonder if he was sad,
and although it may be apocryphal,
I assume he couldn't pratfall like he used to,
and that is something which would affect any man
or woman with a youthful soul trapped in an aging body.