I thought I’ll not go on after sixty one,
but now I’m here and the fear is I will,
age is the bitter pill we swallow when life
has left us lined and feeling hollow,
used up like a matchstick that’s been burnt.
Sixty two will have to do or maybe three, I’ll wait and see.
If you believe we never leave
and just move to another plane
I for one don’t blame you
I’d rather move the
© 2018, John Smallshaw.