At 60

AT 60 For 60 summers, I am With memories wrinkled As age has conceived What time had committed. And mark the day with a chiffon cake One sturdy candle at the center A wish to whisper only once But no one bothered what was said. I think now of those decaying decades Old and dearly friends I hardly meet Share a bit of the sugarless pieces Bland to the hardest crisp. How many faces become vague? Lowly sounds shrill my ears with daze How long ago has there been a gift? And one lonely lamp beside my crib? Such thoughts remain qualms Agonizing my spirit When autumn begins, I shall be A tiny leaf among the heap To be raked, ashed and dust off Hibernate underneath the cold earth To sprout again, perhaps never On any spring, thereafter.