May I Write, At 63?

May I write, if you don't mind please? It seems there's much I long to say, Haul up the bucket of ideas from my deep wishing well That reaches Heaven as well as Hell. Break loose the constraints from the walls, Chase all the forms down endless halls, Catch the strange and toothless one And bring it out into the sun, Hold down the letter and add it's parts until the work is done. I love to write, what's wrong with that? In the sound of words and rhythms flowing I find what seems to me worth showing, Real or not, cool or hot, whether thin or whether fat. So I will write, as I do today, again tomorrow, read or unread, We who write dress up thoughts as leaves adorn the trees, Planting seeds in minds and hearts as we please, Ascertaining and dispensing hope instead of dread. If we choose to rhyme we may, but if not we may not, We can pun just for fun or tantalize with care, Immortalize or satirize, do as much as we may dare. For it is a good thing to write now while still above the family plot.