Years of My Life

A Journey from 1944 to … Now

School Year, 2016–2017

Retired

And so we’ve reached the final year—

I mean, the current one.

For final has a darker sense

That will not be much fun.*

We started back in ’44–

The year that I was born.

Through school and love and loss we’ve gone—

From happy to forlorn.

I’m three years more than seventy—

And one clear thing I see:

These years I’ve had? Well, they are not

Sufficient, not for me!

My health, of course, an enemy—

My age is not a boon.

But still I hope for more good years—

For death comes far too soon.

I want to see my grandsons grow—

I want to hear the voice

Of that amazing woman—yes,

I’m speaking here of Joyce.

So many things I want to read—

So many things to write.

So many loved ones whom I need—

So, hold off, final night!

*Or so I’ve read.