Today, 18 Jan, actually is my birthday. That is why I wrote this poem. It is not a very exciting birthday, but I am still alive. I could definitely live more, but I'm still kicking.
I sit alone as my life slips away.
Today it is my sixtieth birthday.
You would think, with rapidly passing years,
I’d want to be more active, as death nears.
--
There's no party, no elaborate feast.
There are no plans at all, not in the least.
Maybe I will take some pictures downtown.
Just talk with some people and walk around.
--
If I had the money, I’d take a cruise.
But to get that money, I’d need a muse.
Maybe I will just wait to have some fun.
Hopefully before I turn sixty-one.
