Another Year.

House work is done; too hot outside
I don’t like reading; can’t abide
The thought of ‘hanging’; wasting space
A useless member of the human race.

I can’t hide behind my age
Nearly eighty-three; another page
Is already rolling into view
Another year, so what to do?

Too poor to travel; too young to die
I have my wits and one good eye
My driving licence is still my own
If that should go? Just hear me groan!

I rest back in my comfy chair
I scratch my head; I’m losing hair!
My wrinkles gather, they don’t drop off
I try to sing, but only cough.

Would I like to go back in time?
Not really; I was out of line
The halcyon summer days at school
Spent in detention for breaking a rule.

A tom-boy and a rebel, bent
On causing trouble wherever I went.
Dreaming of high adventurous days
Loving my life and all of my ways.

I felt immortal; thought I could fly
The sky was the limit; it wasn’t too high
The years went by and my wings were clipped
My hopes were dashed; expectations slipped.

What now? Immortality is close to my grasp
I have found a Saviour, what more could I ask?
The sky is the limit I’m headed up there
Still with hope and a future God promised down here.


Wyn Barratt
Nov 2011.