Fable-ous Fifty-Eight
January 28, 2011 Leave a comment
Fable-ous Fifty-Eight
Fifty-eight.
Plodding fifty-eight.
More laden with death now,
Then when I started long ago,
With hare intentions,
And, tortoise timidity.
Fifty-eight.
I turtle on,
Head down, face clay smacked,
Determined to keep moving –
Open sea or quaint pond in my future.
Was there a ever race?
Fifty-eight.
Not quite what I imagined:
The soft underbelly of youth remaining.
But, not untenable at the end of the day,
Armored in my recliner.
© Sally Paradise, 2011, All Rights Reserved