What Delights Me

 

Turning 85, as I am doing now,

causes me not only delight, but

a probably quite unjustified pride.

After all, I have rarely given myself 

enough exercise or sleep. Further,

I’ve been overweight for decades.

So it’s all down to luck, and genes.

Thank you, long-lived ancestors —

albeit I note, with yet more pride,

I’ve now outlived you all (all I know).

But being still alive delights me, also,

for many other reasons. Life itself, despite 

its many ills and trials, is a source of joy. 

There are still roses growing, willows

by streams, and river red gums too,

and hoop pines piercing the high sky.

There are sunsets, there are clouds

that look like angels, and mountains

which dent the horizon with bending edges

resembling resting warriors, or dragons.

There are friends, and memories of past

friends, including many cats and dogs. 

Grievous loss — yet they are not lost.

There are books and paintings and music,

movies and laughter, my sons well grown …

I am blessed. I am richly blessed. I know it.

My response to my own prompt for Friday Writings #153 at Poets and Storytellers United. (Written 11 Nov. '24, the day before my 85th birthday.)