Unable to be all things For all people, Perhaps at one time, I tried. Those days are

When I grow really old I may have to do yoga Full time, to get out The aches and creaks. When I grow really old

As I age this last quarter of my life, I am fading into the background. As I let go of roles,

Firefly shine your light, Brighten my life, Lead the way, through The meadows, in my mind. Firefly, float so high,

Yellow finches Line the bird feeder Against Spring’ s canopy Of green and purple tapestry. Back and forth they go

As I enter my sixty-third year, Fall leaves grace the path I love, With hues of red, Gold and orange.

Red sun in the morning rolling up the side of earth. The sky turned pink, as a ball of fire showed it’s strength,

Red bird perched on a tree limb laced with snow. So happy to see him and the joy he brings.

Leaves falling, Another season Decorating the earth. One red leaf In my path,

Lately, a sadness pervades, I mourn for youth, perhaps passion of younger days. With age, some of that passion

This is the America I know: A sea of white, black, red, yellow And brown faces, Strong minds and voices Raised to the sun,

Inspiration is in the falling of rain, the soft coo of birds in late afternoon, the sinking of the

My heart is a good heart, It beats strongly And works hard, To keep me alive. My mind is a good mind,

Birds flying here and there, landing on branches to chirp and bare, their heart. A private club among the trees with their own private code.

Time passing by now In a blink of the eye, In the clap of a hand, In the chirp of a bird, In a flash of light