Yet,...this baby boomer surrenders
since many an elapsed yesternight
to inevitable (albeit gradual)
cosmic fusion with universal spright
notched calendrical anniversary, mine
nondescript birth doth invite
quiet acknowledgement between
January twelfth and fourteenth 2019
lengthening shadows of twilight
years ordain nothing more slight,
than mine chronological meter,
which will tabulate LX orbitz
completed round the sun, a sight
hardly worth promulgating,
cuz I haint nothin but right
smack dab in the average
range as applies to quite,
a vast (perhaps a bajillion)
fellow Earthlings, somewhat polite
chap minding requisite p's
and q's (i.e. prime quality),
nonetheless being cordial, insight
full, how all knowing Universal
studios theatrical playwright
offers no exemption against
facing rigor mortis plight,
and if necessary
shines blinding searchlight,
hence the ultimate countdown
deliverance into eternal night,
or perchance afterlife might...
awash with marshmallow
clouds plus tangerine
skies, amidst kaleidoscopic flying kite
inescapable, yet...I oft wonder
if one can prepare
being hermetically sealed airtight
or if cremation chosen option
retain even a minuscule slight
speck, asper any conscious recall
kept alive by family and friends,
who sorrowfully bite
lower lip reminiscing
close curtain calls ****** fight,
sans that brawling night
in Casablanca, or nearly
(Al) most (Gore)d at bullfight.