I don't recall year one of life,
But I'm here now,
So they got it right.
Yet I remember being one,
On a mattress, in the sun,
The smell of bacon and farm odors,
Were part of me as I grew older.
But I never asked to grow up.
I walked first steps
In my father's shoes,
Blathered blissfully when I was two.
By the time I turned three,
I was sure youth suited me.
I could reach the outside door,
When I grew to the age of four.
Now the world's mine to explore.
But I never asked to grow older.
Then by five I tried to hide
From the travails of an older child;
The digging, weeding, painting, work:
My escape to school was my re-birth.
But I never asked to grow older.
I didn't ask to turn six,
Seven, eight, nine or ten;
I shuddered at our portends,
I didn't like how my world ends,
I finished fishing with Amens.
But I never asked to grow older.
I made twenty years ago,
When decades moved ever so slow;
Thirty came, forty gone,
And fifty didn't last that long.
But I never asked to grow older.
Since I must,
Please remember,
Dip my soother in Irish whiskey,
Include me if you solve the mystery,
And reference me and my life's history.