AT 60

For 60 summers, I am

With memories wrinkled

As age has conceived

What time had committed. 

And mark the day with a chiffon cake

One sturdy candle at the center

A wish to whisper only once

But no one bothered what was said. 

I think now of those decaying decades

Old and dearly friends I hardly meet

Share a bit of the sugarless pieces

Bland to the hardest crisp. 

How many faces become vague?

Lowly sounds shrill my ears with daze

How long ago has there been a gift?

And one lonely lamp beside my crib?

Such thoughts remain qualms

Agonizing my spirit

When autumn begins, I shall be

A tiny leaf among the heap.

To be raked, ashed and dust off

Hibernate underneath the cold earth

To sprout again, perhaps never

On any spring, thereafter.