The Autumn Of My Years

Now that I have reached the Autumn of my years

and the grey has chased the brown away

shall I forget the undiscovered rose

whose perfume

hangs in the air

on a spring night

replete with pure delight?

Should I wear sensible shoes

And lose

The joy of walking

Barefoot on grass?

Shall I seek the fairies dancing

Or insist

They do not exist?

I must persist

In my search for bliss

For to be alive

Is to strive

for something more

Than to achieve the title “saloon bar bore”.

I am not a bee in a hive

A mere part of the whole

Lacking a soul.

Joy is my goal!

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