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.
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