Twenty Years

No one knows, where time goes. The days slip to weeks and months and male models no longer seem like youthful hunks. I wonder where will I be when twenty years from now, I'm ninety three. In looking back these odd seventy plus years, is revealed the all in both happiness and tears. If health remains in check I'll glad and happily look back. After all this time, writing both prose and rhyme I'll relax my bones though crackling and metering time, Dustily collected in my poetry books you can read about my decades of gobbledygook. Clear in those poems you will find me hiding in my garden spot still writing.