I sit at the table, typing away; wondering how I came to be sixty.
I hear the cries and laughs of the children next door
and wonders where the years have gone; it just seems like yesterday
that my own children made those sounds, and I was younger
Younger and full of dreams; the world was my oyster,
and absolutely no one could stop me; marriage one,
bad luck and number two-well he sucked. Left by
myself I wondered how to make things better.
Solomen in his wisdom said; 'There's nothing new under the sun.
What has been will be again.' Never a truer word was said.
We have children, if we're lucky-and the wheel of life keeps on turning.
Cups of tea and buttery toast before eventually going to bed.
Retirement, that thing we long for, creeps up before we know it;
what once was the goal, is now a massive exit role.
Keep busy, get a hobby; because before you know it,
you'll wearing that dress that has no pockets.
This might seem morbid to some, who fear the unknown;
they should take heed, enjoy the fruits of their labour
while they can. Soak up the love of your children;
when they voice their dreams, always listen.
Time can't be rewound, so make the most of each day
and all it holds; visit that place you've always talked about.
Sing a song when you're happy, read a book when you're sad.
Walk a mile in someone else's shoes and gain understanding.