So, for today, I’ve decided to write a little “ditty” for you. Since my book signing of Love and Lovers will be happening this weekend, it seems like a good time to share a bit of “limerick-y” poetry with you. My birthday was last week, and I wrote this poem just for fun and frivolity.
Today, I have made it to seventy-three.
That’s years that I’ve lived. Can this possibly be?
Each day, life’s duality becomes even clearer.
The person inside me’s not who’s in the mirror.
My eyes have stayed brown, but my hair has turned white.
My gait has slowed down. I don’t sleep much at night.
As each morning greets me, a new pain or ache
Shows up in my body. I can’t get a break!
My memory is faulty; I lose track of time.
“Wait, what day is this?” “Is this yours or mine?”
At lunch, friends discuss which new doctors are best
And who must go in for yes, just one more test.
My wardrobe consists of just “jeans, pants, and shirts.”
The only shoes now on my feet are my “Birks!”
Online I go daily, to check the obits.
So far, my name hasn’t shown up on THAT list.
“Getting old’s not for sissies.” That’s what I’ve been told.
So, given the choice, I choose to get old.
My plan is to live well through year 73.
Let’s hope that I make it. Happy Birthday to ME!
Just a thought …
Jim Potter says
Happy Birthday, Ginger! Nice poem!
Thank you, Jim!