A Hundred to Take Up the Stairs

I may not live for a hundred years, But a hundred of my poems will be there to allay your fears, And soften your tears, Enough to give voice to these hundred musings, As I make my way upstairs, To have my poems Checked out by past Masters, Who once stirred our souls, And won our hearts, With poems that allayed our fears, And softened our tears, As we too took up our pens, Aiming to be half as good as those poets, Who we hoped made it up the stairs, And not down into the pits. But if I should make it to a hundred and can hold back the tears, After a couple of beers, I will assert one of my copyrights, And you can recite the ninety-nine others, While I look forward to more poem filled years, Before I take that final trip up the stairs, To reside among my peers.