62 and Counting
When I was five I dreamed of being
ten
When I was ten I was shy.
While I was shy I turned into a
teenager
And then blossomed into a
reluctant flower arranger.
In twenties and thirties I brought
up a family
And went back to work, somewhat unhappily.
The forties were roaring and took
their toll,
The skin sagged, the eyes
deepened, I was out of control.
At fifty-five a mid-life crisis
made me redundant
But by sixty-one life seemed
easier and abundant
With offers of dinner, holidays in
the sun.
But you can’t help but wonder
‘where has it gone?’
62 and still counting
waving or drowning?
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