A Bit More Time

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.