I have known a little sorrow,
still have hope for my tomorrow,
like to walk without a care,
simply strolling, being there.
I’m not rich but I don’t mind,
knowing I can still be kind,
see many ways to prove my worth,
still have hope for Mother Earth.
I’m getting older, there is that,
yet I can still be one cool cat.
How will my future be measured?
What will I think of as treasured?
Maybe leave behind regrets,
be okay with little secrets,
be comfy, come to grips,
with life’s quite frequent slips,
lose the need for lots of stuff,
let others’ joy give me enough.
Always return my shopping cart.
It’s not much, but it’s a start.
Write to authors when it’s me they touch,
it inspires them, means so much.
And when I get even older - this is wild,
I’ll get on my knees when I speak to a child.
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