One more revolution ‘til I’m fresh out of fifties,
And enter the decade of Medicare sixties.
A little less hair, a little more fat
But by now I’m totally okay with all that.
No one to impress me, no one to undress me
I’m a solitary man with myself.
Not lonely, not desperate, nor ready for respite
Not ready to be put on a shelf.
Fifty nine? Who’d have thought?
The farm I’ve not bought
By now I should be six feet under.
So bring on this year
If God still wills me here
Or snatch me up into glory and wonder!