I turned sixty and was feeling frisky.
Then sixty-one – still having fun.
At sixty-two, I had lots to do.
At sixty-three, I was feeling free.
Came sixty-four, I needed more.
So at sixty-five, I started to jive.
Reached sixty-six, I’d taken some licks.
By sixty-seven, I’d learned my lesson.
But sixty-eight filled my plate.
And sixty-nine went by just fine.
One decade was over and done; time to start another one.
Turned seventy – faced longevity.
Seventy-one just wasn’t fun.
Seventy-two was pretty blue.
Seventy-three, I tweaked my knee.
Seventy-four, I closed a door.
Seventy-five, I was still alive.
Seventy-six, still in the mix.
Seventy-seven has been no heaven. . .
But, seventy-eight is gonna be great!
. . .To be continued.
Katherine Burgess
Durango
