Ten thousand years ago
A man my age would be near his end
While I expect yet to live
As long as I’ve already lived, again
In our age of miracles
One thousand years ago
A man half my age might think himself lucky
To have dodged the plagues
As long as he had, forsooth
And reckon it miraculous
Ten decades, more or less
A man might hope to keep on gurgling
With a strong heart and some luck
As long as his grip holds, anyway
On his belief in miracles
One decade passes slowly
Though a man sees each successive one slip by
With ever-greater speed
As long as he is ready, though
Mightn’t the miracle still come?
22 Feb 03