Friday, December 23, 2005
Upon Turning 50
A Sonnet for a Fiftieth Birthday
by Deborah Meister (Dec. 23, 1955 -- )
So, I am fifty, but what the hell.
I can trust you! You won't tell.
Life goes on, day after day.
Does age really matter? Who can say?
I can walk, talk, and plan, as much as I am able.
I can still feed myself and sit at the table.
A tree counts its age by its numbers of rings.
We measure our age against many things.
Wisdom and love, above all, top the list.
And friendships, if missing, would surely be missed.
In abundance these things don't make you old,
But rich beyond count as if they are gold.
Fifty is fifty, with the best years ahead.
Beats the alternative, which is being dead.
A Sonnet for a Fiftieth Birthday
by Deborah Meister (Dec. 23, 1955 -- )
So, I am fifty, but what the hell.
I can trust you! You won't tell.
Life goes on, day after day.
Does age really matter? Who can say?
I can walk, talk, and plan, as much as I am able.
I can still feed myself and sit at the table.
A tree counts its age by its numbers of rings.
We measure our age against many things.
Wisdom and love, above all, top the list.
And friendships, if missing, would surely be missed.
In abundance these things don't make you old,
But rich beyond count as if they are gold.
Fifty is fifty, with the best years ahead.
Beats the alternative, which is being dead.
