I don’t need to reach the age
When I must use a walker.
That would be hard, anyway,
Since I am a New Yorker.
Ninety candles on my cake
I never planned to see;
And neither did I think there’d be
An eighty year old me.
My parents both died rather young;
I thought I’d follow suit.
Genetics may not matter, though;
The verdict still is moot.
But I would like a bit more time
To see my grandson grow.
I’m sure most people feel the same
When they’ve been called to go.
We can’t control our date of death
Or measure out our years;
And as we age, we find ourselves
Succumbing to our fears.
Though what I’m feeling strongly
May be looked upon as greed,
A bit more time upon this earth
Is what I want and need.