How did I spend the vigour of my youth,
on chasing fame
and riches
and chimera of power?
No.

And somewhat proud I say
of that.

So what lay waste
the flower of my time?

Travelling to stars
outside the
planetarium of skull?
No.

No seeker of novel worlds
and strange practice
beyond sitting on the ***.

With this body encased
in mind did I explore
my globe

In walking and sitting
and standing and lying
in running and swimming
in energy pared
in eating and ******* and sleeping
in sexing and drinking
and library reading.

So tell me old man
of this misspent time
of the hurts you made
and the lazy days

And tell me of the
hells you created
of the good intentions
fallen to dust

And do not omit
the belly laughter
and small kindness
and hospitality to strangers
and open heart
and spirit soaring.

And tell me now
how will the fruit
of time be thrown
into the small basket
of remaining days?

Why what to expect
of a maverick reprobate,
but more sweet lady,
a little more of the same