This last September, I turned seventy five,
a ripe old age I never dreamed I’d make.
In fact, surprised that I am still alive.
Unknown, the twists and turns my life would take.
Its share had love and also true heartache.
Though who among us couldn’t say the same?
The sip of sorrow, one we all partake,
uniquely portioned out to one and all,
is borne upon the backs both large and small.
So, who am I to be one to complain?
I should be pleased that I’m still on the ball,
or can recall it with my aging brain.
But still, allow me thoughts that I recall.
This boomer born beyond the World War’s wake,
where nuns attempt to change my left-hand scrawl,
and Rock and Roll set culture’s new earthquake,
was Hippy as the sixties overtake.
A shot-gun wedding when nineteen years old,
avoided draft with college undertake.
Took any job with bennies I could hold,
which stretched to over forty years, I’m told.
Along the way there loomed a bad divorce.
Then blended a new family to behold
when second wife’s two children joined my course.
Then fifty years of marriage had ensued,
that nearly got divorced, but reconciled.
Four times our marriage nearly came unglued.
It may have been on how to raise a child,
and finances weren’t always reconciled.
Her mental health and chronic pain combined,
when added to the mix were seldom mild.
My constant travel played upon her mind,
while raising teens left no time to unwind.
I know for sure ‘twas not for love we lack,
but sometimes to our faults we may be blind.
I dare to say we’ve been through Hell and back.
Now looking back, I took the good and bad.
In my career, I had success it seems.
I should recall the other roles I had.
Like captain bowling, golf, and football teams
Canoe Club President and Golf Regimes.
Stained glass, piano, poetry did gain
which added to completion of my dreams.
So jettison depression, anger, pain
like mists that dissipate past heavy rain,
but leave my legacy still standing tall.
In retrospect, I’d do it all again
I’m pleased that I, at least, survived it all.
