I live alone. I’m over 65
and only work a little now. I find
these days are nearly full enough. Alive
and well, enjoying luck and cash or kind,
I wake to writing words and reading news,
I exercise at home and cook or clean
or shop as needed, look around at views,
try to comprehend what hormones mean.

My days are never wasted, but I sense
I have the stamina and time for more.
Though social interaction makes me tense,
I won’t deceive me – knowing me for sure –
Beyond my boundaries lurks nervous stress
that’s probably a path to happiness.

This entry was posted in Aging, Behavior Modification, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

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